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THE 


MISTRESS OF LYDGATE 


BY 


EVELYN EVERETT- GREEN, 


Author of “ The. Head of the House,” “ Barbara's Brothers ,” 
i% Her Husband's Home,” “ Two Enthusiasts,” 

“ Joint Guardians 


“ Tea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death , I 
will fear no evil : for Thou art with me."— XXIII. Psalm. 



BOSTON : 

IRA BRADLEY & CO. 



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Copyright, 1889, 

IRA BRADLEY & CO. 


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CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction 5 

CHAPTER 

I. Miss Lovell. 14 

II. Mr. Baskerville 25 

III. In the Gay World 38 

IY. Henry Scrope 46 

Y. My Lover 52 

YI. Strange Tidings 61 

YII. Dark Days 75 

YIIL A Second Betrothal 86 

IX. King or Queen ? 09 

X. My Second Son 116 

XI. The Shadow of Death 128 

XII. Awakening 141 

XIII. A Fading Flower 153 

XIY. Sowing and Reaping 166 

XY. A Snowy Night 180 

XYI. Lelia • 192 

XYII. A Divided Household. . . 204 


iv CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XYI1I. Changes . 217 

XIX. Tom’s First Love 232 

XX. Geraldine 251 

XXI. My Children 265 

XXII. Marrying and Giving in Marriage 276 

XXIII. War 288 

XXIV. My Twins 301 

XXV. Last Links 311 

Conclusion 318 



THE 


MISTBESS OF LYDGATE. 


INTRODUCTION . 


I’EsglHEN I was a young girl I 
n wl hear my grandmother sr 


used so often to 
my grandmother spoken of as ‘a 
wonderful woman/ that the phrase became 
distasteful to me, and I felt an odd kind of prejudice 
against the old lady, whom I had not seen since I 
was a child. 

I was too young in those days to have any sym- 
pathy with age. People over thirty seemed of 
necessity too old to be in any way interesting. As 
for wishing to hear the story of my grandmother’s 
life, such an idea never entered into my head. 

If I had paused to think about it, I might have 
known that she had had a great deal of trouble. 
I knew that my grandfather had died when my 
father was but a lad, and that there were brothers 


6 


TIIE MISTRESS QF LYDGATE. 


and sisters qf his, who were to me but names upon 
the tablet in the church. 

But, as I have before hinted, young girls seldom 
realize that the death of aunts and uncles, years 
ago, meant also the death of well-loved sons and 
daughters to somebody ; and that each of those 
names and dates upon the marble tablet implied a 
whole history of mingled joy and grief to the 
mother who had watched the children grow, and 
had seen their lives cut short. 

I at least never realized all that. I lived a 
happy, careless, shielded life, and I was not at 
all interested in the wonderful grandmother often 
named by my parents, nor was I sorry that the 
brief visits paid by her to the Mount were generally 
timed, as it chanced, during the warm summer- 
tide, when I was paying a round of visits to friends 
and relatives. As I was the eldest daughter at 
home, and the only one ‘out,’ I had to take my 
share in the entertaining of guests, and I was con- 
vinced that my grandmother would be a tiresome, 
exacting, critical old lady, and was not sorry that 
I could escape her visits without any visible effort 
on my part to do so. 

But I soon had cause to change my estimate of 
my aged relative. 

One spring I had a very bad illness which con- 
fined me for many weary weeks to my bed, and 
left me as weak and helpless as a child. Change of 


INTRODUCTION. 


7 


air and scene, and even of the faces round me, was 
prescribed. I went first to an aunt’s house where I 
generally felt very much at home and very happy ; 
but I suppose it must have been the weak state I 
was in that made the change, for I was perfectly 
miserable, cried all day long for my mother, and 
wrote imploring letters to her begging her to take 
me home. 

She came and took me away — but not home. 
She told me that I must have change, and that 
she was going to send me to my grandmother at 
Lydgate, and counselled me firmly and kindly to 
try and be brave, and not give way to depression 
and home-sickness. 

I implored and entreated in vain to go home. 
My mother listened kindly, but her purpose was 
unshaken. Two days later, upon a lovely evening 
of early summer, I found myself driving alone in 
my grandmother’s open carriage, along a very 
lovely road, through most exquisite scenery, to 
the old, gray, ecclesiastical-looking house, half- 
way up a wooded hill, and most picturesque both 
in its surroundings and in its every detail. This 
house was Lydgate, and my grandmother’s home, 
where she had been born, and where many years 
of her life had been passed. 

She was standing at the great door to welcome 
me, an upright and very handsome old lady, with 
beautiful, soft, dark eyes, still bright and clear, 


8 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


and a quantity of waving hair white as driven 
snow. She was dressed in black satin, with some 
rich old lace yellow with age about her neck and 
wrists, and a cap upon her white hair. I thought 
for the moment that 1 had never seen anybody 
quite so striking or so handsome before, and the 
impression did not fade with time. Young people 
have a sort of undefined idea that beauty belongs 
to them alone, and fades away when youth is gone. 
I was startled — actually startled — when I looked 
into my grandmother’s face to see how beautiful 
it was. The smooth red and white fairness and 
peach-like bloom had of course left that face ; but 
the lines traced by the hand of Time had given to 
it a power, a pathos, a sweetness, and a charm far 
beyond any tiling that mere richness of coloring, or 
smoothness of texture, could bestow ; and I looked 
at my grandmother with undisguised admiration 
not unmixed with awe. 

She received me with a motherly kindness and 
authority that put me at ease at once. I found that 
here I had no option what I would do or what I 
would take. My weakened frame and feeble powers 
were not taxed by any efforts to think what I 
wanted, or select for myself which of two courses 
I should pursue. Everything was settled for me, 
and a sense of absolute rest and security stole upon 
me that acted like a charm. 

I grew stronger every day. I made a start from 


INTRODUCTION , 


9 


the very first, and my recovery, if not rapid, was 
steady and satisfactory. 

Lydgate was a most delighted house and pecul- 
iarly beautiful. The house with its pointed arches 
and delicate tracery was a perfect feast to the eyes, 
and the smooth square of sward inclosed was one 
of my most favorite resting-places. The whole 
atmosphere of the house seemed to breathe a sort 
of stately calm and repose, as if the battles of life 
were over, and the rest of eventide drawing near. 
It was like nothing I had ever before experienced, 
and the influence exercised upon me was very 
great. 

I grew, too, to be very fond of my grandmother. 
This love did not spring up all in a moment, as did 
my admiration for her undoubted beauty ; for a time 
I was afraid of her, with that fear that is not un- 
wholesome in the young and has a fascination of its 
own. I liked to see her come into my room, and 
was sorry when she left. I liked to watch her from 
my window as she paced in her stately way to and 
fro upon the terrace, wondering what she was 
thinking of — what memories and pictures lay 
beneath those deep eyes of hers so often fixed in 
dreamy abstraction upon the purple distance. My 
grandmother did not now seem old or uninterest- 
ing ; I thought about her a great deal ; in fact, she 
occupied the central position in my fancies just 
then, and any little story or reminiscence of past 


10 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


days that fell from her lips was carefully treasured 
up in my memory. 

One thing that greatly struck me about her was 
her peculiar goodness — that was the word I used to 
myself, and yet it hardly conveys my meaning. My 
grandmother never “ talked good,” as my brothers 
phrased it. She did not startle one by searching 
questions or aspirations so very trying to the young, 
nor did she embarrass the conversation by the sud- 
den introduction of sacred words and names ; or 
use Bible quotations as arguments in order to 
silence where she could not convince, as I have 
heard many well-meaning yet unwise people do. 
No ; my grandmother was herself a reserved and 
silent woman ; moreover, she was imbued with a 
sound and practical common sense that I have 
never seen equalled, and which gave her a power 
and discernment rarely to be met with. Every 
one came to her for advice, as it seemed to me ; 
and seldom did they go away without having re- 
ceived just such counsel as they most needed. The 
confidence she inspired was something marvellous, 
as was also the deep and true veneration with which 
all regarded her. None but a good woman ever 
could awaken and hold such feelings as these, and 
yet, as I have before said, nobody could have been 
more reticent as to her private religious convic- 
tions. 

The matter lay just here ; my grandmother 


INTRODUCTION. 


11 


6 walked with God ’ — she lived so near to Him that 
it seemed as if the light of His countenance shone 
upon her. There was no need for her to talk. She 
won all hearts by the beauty of her life. I some- 
times looked at her with awe, and wondered how 
she had attained this lofty height. 

I paid a long visit, I learned to know and to love 
my grandmother well. Her reserve and my shy- 
ness melted gradually, as we grew nearer to one 
another. She loved me in time, I think, as dearly 
as I loved her, and the memory of those days we 
passed together is one of the sweetest and most 
sacred of my past life. 

In time, of course, I learned many leading facts 
regarding that long life which had already lasted as 
long as the present century (my grandmother was 
born in 1800) ; but for some time I was ignorant of 
many connecting links and of much of the early- 
history of that life, and I felt as if I should like the 
picture more defined and more complete. 

“ Tell me about yourself, grandmother,” I used 
often to say, in those days, as we sat out in the 
fragrant garden or in the cool shady rooms. 

Then grandmother would smile and answer, 
“ More about myself, you insatiable child ? I 
should have thought you had heard more than 
enough already about an old woman like me.” 

And one day, having learned already a great 
deal, my request took a new form. 


12 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


“ Tell it me all from the beginning, grandmother, 
please. I want it in a long story, and then I can 
fit in all the little pieces that I know already.” 

Grandmother smiled, and a far-away look dawned 
in her eyes. 

44 From the very beginning ? ” she questioned 
softly ; 44 nearly eighty years of sunshine and 
shadow.” 

44 You do not mind telling me, do you? ” I asked, 
looking up at her. 44 1 know you have had a great 
many troubles ; but you do not mind talking of 
them now, do you ? ” 

The beautiful old face put on a look which in its 
strange, sweet softness and brightness I can never 
forget. 

“My dear,” she said, 46 when we have climbed the 
hill of life so nearly to its summit that the pearly 
gates seem very near, and the dark, shadowy 
valleys below so very far away, no backward 
glances can be very painful. Our dear ones, who 
are not lost but gone before, are nearer to us 
perchance, waiting for us in the great eternal 
home, than if we had left them toiling up behind 
us through the desert we have traversed ourselves. 
No, my dear, it does not hurt me now to talk of 
the past. You shall have the story from the 
beginning.” 

I shall try to give it in her own words. I know 
that I shall lamentably fall short of the charm of 


INTRODUCTION . 


13 


narration with which she indued her history, but 
I shall do m} r best. If I fail in telling a tale well 
worth the hearing, the fault will be mine, not 
hers. 

This then is the story of my grandmother’s 


life. 




CHAPTER I. 

MISS LOVEL. 

WAS an only child; and I was born in 
Lydgate, of which, as I grew up, I was 
taught to consider myself the mistress. 

My father died when I was five, and I only 
retain of him the most dim and distant recollection. 
My mother w r as a beautiful and delicate woman, 
little better than a chronic invalid, whom I loved 
with a protecting and caressing love, hardly 
natural, and certainly not usual from child to 
mother. 

Under the terms of my father’s will, Lydgate 
and all the Lovel property passed straight to his 
only child. My mother had her own property and 
the jointure under her marriage settlement, and 
the estate was left entirely to me, with the stipula- 
tion that my mother should have the right to live 




MISS LOVEL . 


15 


at Lydgate so long as I remained unmarried. She 
was also sole guardian. and executor. 

Some people told me that it was a curious will, 
and treated me more like a son than a daughter ; 
but I was too young to heed or to understand 
very much what they meant, and I gloried in the 
possession of my beautiful house, and in the adula- 
tion and admiration it insured for me. 

As a child this feeling of pride and vanity might 
not have hurt me much ; but unhappily it was not 
a mere childish dream 'that filled me with a sense 
of my own importance, but a solid conviction that 
grew with my growth and became a part of my 
very nature. Everything tended to feed and de- 
velop this master passion. The old servants could 
not make enough of me. I was a fine, high-spirited 
child, with a strong will and a good temper — a 
combination that generally contrives to win favor 
and hold hearts in thrall. I was told of my beauty, 
my wealth, my high position, from the day I began 
to understand or notice what was said, and my 
father’s death turned me into a little queen to 
whom all seemed ready to do homage. 

When I rode my spirited pony beyond the park 
gates, the tenants would come to their doors and 
curtsy or touch their forelocks to the little mistress, 
and bless her bonnie face. When I bestowed upon 
the sick and aged the gifts it had cost me nothing 
to tender, not even the price of a thought, I was 


16 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


called a “ little angel ” and made to believe myself 
a true Lady Bountiful. The gentry round made 
a fuss over me every time I went to their houses. 
I was praised for my beautiful dark eyes and my 
wealth of nut-brown hair. I was told I should 
make hearts ache some day, and the peculiar style 
of my beauty was plainly discussed and praised. 
My long minority, they said, would make the 
estate of double its present value, and although a 
great deal of what I heard was quite unintelligible, 
I learned enough to be convinced that I was a 
person of the very first importance, and that great 
triumphs were before me in the future, and I 
gloried in this knowledge. 

My mother, who, had she been a stronger or a 
more experienced woman, might have stopped a 
great deal of the foolish talk that went on, or at any 
rate have been a counterbalancing influence to the 
impression produced, was too much the invalid, 
too much weakened in body and mind, to under- 
stand fully the harm that was being done me by 
all this adulation, or to take any active steps to 
counteract it. 

She had drooped visibly since my father’s death, 
and grew more languid and more fragile with each 
succeeding year. She always lay upon a couch, 
surrounded by every luxury that taste could de- 
sire and wealth procure. I can see her yet — pale, 
lovely, frail, and gentle — a mother to be tended, 


MISS LOVEL. 


17 


caressed, adored ; but not one to whom a self-willed 
girl would look for counsel or help, nor one who 
would be likely to see when a check was needed 
or endeavor to enforce it. 

My mother idolized me and could not see my 
faults. She gloried in my high spirits and exuber- 
ant strength and vitality. She had such confidence 
in my powers that even my wildest exploits hardly 
alarmed her. In common with the whole house- 
hold she believed that no harm could befall any 
one so dashing and brilliant as I was in the days 
of my early youth. 

So I went on my own way, unchecked and un- 
heeding, finding life all roses, and never dreaming 
of the thorns that hide themselves beneath. I en- 
joyed every day and every hour of my life with an 
intensity only possible to certain temperaments 
and in certain surrroundings, and I told myself in 
thought, if not in word, that trouble could never 
touch me. 

I grew up in this wayward, heedless fashion un- 
til I was seventeen, and my education was said to 
be completed and I ready to make my appearance, 
in society. • 

I had before this enjoyed so much liberty that 
the period of emancipation did not present the 
same contrast to my former life that it does to 
many young girls released from the schoolroom. 

I had spent each year a fortnight with my 


18 THE MISTI! ESS OF LYDGATE. 

mother’s sister, Mrs. Otway, whose husband was a 
general in the army, and who saw a great deal of 
military society. During these visits I was never 
kept in the background, but was made much of by 
every one, flattered, caressed, praised; and I went 
about everywhere with my cousin Geraldine, who 
was almost as much the spoilt child of fortune as 
myself. 

Still I was aware that I had been heretofore 
looked upon as the child rather than the woman, 
and indeed I was but a child in mind and heart as 
well as in externals. But when my seventeenth 
birthday had passed, and I was dressed, according 
to the fashion of the day, as a stylish young lady, 
instead of a great schoolgirl, then I began to study 
my appearance with great interest, and mightily 
pleased was I with my new dresses and costly 
ornaments. 

I felt a sense of power rise within me, and I be- 
lieved that great triumphs lay before me. I was 
at heart a child still; but I believed myself a wo- 
man now, and some of the woman’s power and 
knowledge began to awake within me. 

“ Kate,” said my mother to me one day at this 
time, “ Mrs. Baskerville and her son are coming to 
stay here for a few weeks.” 

Now I had seen Mrs. Baskerville once or twice, 
for she gen really came to stay with my mother 
when I visited Mrs. Otway, and occasionally she 


MISS LOVEL. 


19 


remained a few days at Lydgate after my return. 
My mother was very fond of her, but I do not 
think I was. I thought her a tiresome, straitlaced 
old lady, and was extremely indignant, sometimes, 
at the criticisms she made upon me and my conduct. 
Nobody else in the world ever dared to cast a 
shadow of reproach upon me, and I considered it 
an unpardonable affront. Still, as my mother was 
fond of her* and as she was a connection of my dead 
father, I tried to be civil to her when we did meet. 

I was not, however, particularly pleased to hear 
of this prospective visit. 

“ Am I going to my Aunt Otway’s, then ? ” I 
asked. 

“No, dear. I want you at home.” 

My mother’s delicate color flew up as she spoke 
these words. I could read her face like a book, 
and I saw at once that she had something on her 
mind. 

“ What is it, mother ? ” 

“ Why, nothing, dear Kate. What should it be ? 
You see I shall want your help with two guests. 
I am not fit to entertain a young man. You have 
heard of Thomas Baskerville, have you not ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! Mrs. Baskerville does not let any- 
body remain in ignorance long of dear Thomas’s 
virtues ! I don’t think I like young men who stay 
at home with mamma and have their praises sung 
forever by her ! ” 


20 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


My mother smiled, but shook her head with a 
look of gentle reproach. 

“ Mr. Baskerville remains at home to take care 
of the property, which is a very fine one. Some 
day I hope you will visit the Mount and see it for 
yourself. Mr. Thomas Baskerville is a very rich 
man, besides being a good and dutiful son.” 

I tossed my head somewhat scornfully. “ Well, 
he is nothing to me in any case, and I do not know 
why he should come here.” 

My mother’s sensitive color again rose, and I 
became assured that something was meant by this 
visit more than at first appeared. 

“ You have a secret,” I said, curiously andcoax- 
ingly. “ Now that isn’t fair, for I never have secrets 
from you. Do tell me, mother, what it is.” 

My mother’s color still continued to rise. 

“ My dear child, you do get hold of very odd ideas. 
What should make you think I have a secret ? If 
I have, it is a very small one. Only this, that 
your dear father asked me before his death to wait 
until you had both grown up, and then make you 
and Mr. Thomas Baskerville acquainted. That is 
all — it is nothing very wonderful, you see.” 

Nothing very wonderful, perhaps ; but my mind 
at once reached the right conclusion. Some peo- 
ple will tell you that it is the modern fiction of the 
day that opens the eyes of young girls to matters 
which they have no need to know ; but I doubt if 


MISS LOVEL . 21 

this can be an exhaustive explanation of the 
matter. 

Certainly I had had access to but few works of 
fiction. My mind had not been precociously de- 
veloped by the attractions of a circulating library, 
and yet I knew perfectly well what was the signifi- 
cance of my dead father’s wish. 

I had enough of the woman in me to leap at 
once to a right conclusion, enough of the child, to 
speak out my thought without the least hesitation. 

“ You mean that my father wished me to marry 
Mr. Thomas Baskerville ? ” 

My poor mother flushed more hotly than ever. 

“ Dear Kate ! How can you say such things ? ” 

But I knew I had guessed right, and only 
laughed. 

“ I shan’t marry him unless I like him very much, 
and I’m pretty sure I shan’t do that” I cried. 

“ My love, be careful how you speak and think 
on such matters ; believe me, we desire nothing 
save your greatest good. You know, Kate — at 
least you do not know, but you may some day 
have to learn — that the world is not the bright 
place you have always thought it, and that a rich 
woman is very helpless and often in danger, unless 
she has a good husband to help and guide her.” 

I jumped up from my seat and kissed my mother, 
but I was laughing all the time. 

“Do you know,” I began with mock gravity. 


22 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


“ that I really do feel equal to taking care of my- 
self and my affairs without the worshipful help of 
Mr. Thomas Baskerville ? ” 

And then I ran away, laughing, and ordered my 
horse, and took a grand gallop over the common. 

It was a pity that my gentle mother had so in- 
nocently betrayed her secret. Girls at seventeen, 
whether or not they have steeped themselves in 
fiction, are full of romantic thoughts and aspira- 
tions. There is more romance in real life and in 
the pages of history than in all the novels that ever 
were penned, and I was as determined as most girls 
are that there should be nothing little or mean or 
sordid in my life and in my love. I myself had 
wealth enough for one household. He who came 
to woo me had no need to have a rent-roll in his 
hand nor a balance at his bank. I would wed for 
love alone ; and many pictures did my fancy draw 
of the nameless, knightly stranger who should 
whisper vows of love in my ear and be rewarded 
with my heart and with my hand. 

The idea of a possible lover in this solid man of 
wealth, this virtuous and dutiful Thomas Basker- 
ville, filled me with a sort of mirthful scorn not by 
any means nnpleasing to my vanity. 

I knew that I was beautiful and winning; and I 
was soused to the knowledge that it hardly stirred 
me now ; but it gave to me a sense of power that 
was very much to my liking. 


MISS LOVEL. 


23 


The thought that I was to be the central figure 
of a little family romance amused me very much. 
I was acute enough to be pretty certain that this 
prospective marriage had been arranged for Kate 
Lovel and Thomas Baskerville by the united fore- 
thought of the heads of both houses, and I had 
little doubt of Thomas’s readiness to fulfil his 
share of the compact — modesty was not my beset- 
ting sin, you will perceive. 

But as for Kate — ah! that was a different 
matter altogether. 

As I galloped my horse over the breezy common 
I pictured many amusing scenes — how my conduct 
would be watched, my words treasured, my looks 
examined, and my every action discussed and 
pondered over. I pictured how the fat Thomas 
(I had made up my mind that he was fat) would 
sit and gaze upon me, how he would plead his 
cause in awkward fashion, and how I should lead 
him on and then laugh at him. Not very profitable 
reflections, you will say ; no, by no means ; but 
they show the attitude of mind I was prepared to 
take up. I felt an added dignity in the thought 
that I was about to crush a cherished family 
scheme, and assert myself with a new sense of 
dignity. I quite longed for the Baskervilles to, 
come, that I might show them my power and my 
pride. 

My mother made no further allusions to. the 


24 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


secret I had so ruthlessly dragged out and dis- 
cussed; and although she still colored vividly 
whenever the approaching visit of the Baskervilles 
was mentioned, I refrained from adding to her 
discomfiture by appearing to notice it. 

I spent a good deal of time with my maid, alter- 
ing, re-making, and adorning my various gowns 
and mantles, for I was determined to make a very 
grand appearance, and show Mr. Baskerville once 
and for all that Miss Lovel was not a person to be 
trifled with. 

I will not describe to you the dress I donned to 
receive these guests at our six o’clock dinner, 
which was an extraordinarily late hour for those 
days. It would sound to you painfully old- 
fashioned and dowdy ; but in those days it was the 
height of stylish elegance. I had purposely kept 
out of the way during the bustle of arriving, in 
order to show myself to the very best. 

I took one long and satisfactory look in the 
long mirror, smiled at my own blooming reflection, 
and sailed majestically towards the drawing-room. 



CHAPTER II. 


MR. BASKERYILLE. 



j]HERE was a murmur of voices as I ap- 
proached the door, which told me that our 
guests were with my mother in the draw- 
ing-room. 

I opened the door and entered, and saw that I 
had not been mistaken. Without casting a single 
glance at a tall figure outlined against a distant 
window, I went forward and greeted Mrs. Basker- 


viile, and when the son was introduced I merely 
bowed, hardly so much as favoring him with a 
glance. 

At the dinner that speedily followed, however, 
I had leisure and opportunity to study my right- 
hand neighbor. He did not speak much to me 
nor I to him, so that it was not difficult to steal 
glances at him from time to time, without any 
great danger of detection. 


26 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

I hardly knew whether I was pleased or dis- 
pleased with the result of my scrutiny, but I was 
forced to admit that Thomas Baskerville was very 
different from the man I had pictured. 

He was very tall and spare — that I had observed 
when we went in to dinner — but even when sitting 
he showed indications of height and powerful 
build. His hair was dark, his brow square and 
massive, and his features were good and clearly 
cut. He was not, withal, a handsome man, nor 
one to take the fancy of a young girl. There was 
no fire, no dash, none of that gallant grace of 
bearing and manner that attracts the eye and 
heart of youth, for Thomas Baskerville, at five-and 
twenty, was grave and thoughtful beyond his 
years, a silent man, who felt more than he spoke, 
and was more likely to be popular with men and 
women older than himself, than with the young, 
the giddy, and the gay. 

Nevertheless, his was a face that commanded 
respect and a certain half-reluctant liking. I felt 
that I could not make this man look the foolish 
and ridiculous object that the fat Thomas Basker- 
ville of my thoughts had often been made to 
appear. I was half vexed and half pleased to find 
this man so different from the one I had pictured. 

After dinner I played and sang, and he stood 
by the harp and watched me. He was fond of 
music, lie told me gravely, but he could not p£r- 


MR. BASKERVILLE. 


27 


form himself. I tried to make him sing, but he 
would not, so then I offered to show him the 
garden, if he liked, as it was summer time and 
quite light and warm. 

This offer he accepted, and we wandered about 
together a good while. I was so well used to 
liberty of action, so accustomed to do just what I 
fancied at the moment, that I had no idea there 
could be anything marked in wandering though a 
sweet, old garden in the twilight with any one, be 
it man or woman. I enjoyed myself and talked a 
great deal, and he enjoyed himself and said very 
little, and it was quite an hour before we found 
our way back to the drawing-room. 

Next day we rode out together, and as he rode 
well and understood horses, we got on very pleas- 
antly. I sang for him again in the evening, and 
we walked in the garden ; again I talked to my 
heart’s content — and I never was tired of talking — 
and he watched me and listened to me, as I after- 
wards found, with an ever-increasing pleasure, but 
I did not know that then, nor should I have cared 
if I had done so. 

So day after day slipped by in the same quiet 
fashion, and days had merged into weeks before I 
had begun to wonder how the time had passed, or 
how long our guests would stay. 

I had found the society of this young kinsman 
a pleasant variety in my lonely life. I had not 


28 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


been accustomed to companionship in my daily; 
walks and rides and light labors in the garden, 
and as all change is pleasant to the young, so was 
this change to me which constituted Thomas 
Baskerville my protector and friend. 

But with me the matter ended there. I liked 
him. I liked to have a listener when I talked. I 
liked to feel that I was watched and admired and 
looked after by some one more interesting than the 
old servants and friends who had surrounded me 
from infancy. He gave food to my vanity and 
love of admiration, and I liked him ; but that was 
all. With me things went no deeper than that, 
and of his feelings I never troubled to think. 

It seemed to me that it was his business to look 
after himself as I looked after myself, and I had 
no consideration to spare for him. 

But a day came when I was forced to give this 
matter some thought, however little I might care 
to do so. 

In the twilight garden, one lovely summer’s 
evening, Thomas Baskerville asked me to be his 
wife, and asked it in such a way that I could not 
look up in his face and give the saucy answer I had 
once planned. I could only stand still with my 
eyes on the ground, and tell him that I could not 
give him what he asked. 

I had no vestige of love for him. I did not yet 
know the meaning of the word. So far I had never 


MR. BASKERVILLE. 


29 


really loved any one but myself, for tbe feeling 
with which I regarded even my mother was not 
sufficiently pure and unselfish to merit the name of 
love. 

Kate, ” he said gently, and yet a little sternly * 
too, 44 do you mean to tell me that you have no love 
to spare for me ? Am I nothing to you, after all 
that we have said and done together? ” 

I looked up and saw that there was pain in his 
face, and it made me rather angry. Why did he 
expect me to care for him just because we had 
walked and ridden and talked together ? He was 
not at all an interesting companion. I had always 
been forced to take the lead. 

What had he done to make me like him? I felt 
indignant, and the consciousness that I had used 
some art in order to win his admiration, and had 
sometimes spoken words which would have better 
been left unsaid, did not tend to soothe me. When 
we feel angry with ourselves it is always a satis- 
faction to vent that anger upon somebody else, and 
the young really do often grow confused as to who 
is the true culprit. 

46 What do you mean?” I asked indignantly ; 

44 what have I said or done ? I have only tried to 
make things pleasant for you on your visit. Why 
should I love you? Why should you expect it? ” 

44 Ah, why?” he answered sadly. 44 Only, I 
suppose, because I love you so much. ” 


30 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


I pouted and looked vexed. 

“ Well, I wish you wouldn’t then. It spoils 
everything. Why can’t people be happy without 
always falling in love? It is so stupid.” 

“ I never fell in love before, ” answered Mr. 
Baskerville, quietly. 

“ Then I don’t see why you need begin now. ” 

He looked at me sadly, and by-and-by took my 
hand in his. 

u Kate, ” he said, “ look up at me, and let me see 
your eyes. No, do not frown, I will not try your 
patience too far; but tell me — have you ever 
loved ? ” 

“ No, never. ” 

“ And yet you could love, and that well ! ” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure, and I don’t care to 
try. ” 

“ Yet I love you, Kate ; you have made me love 
you. I would try to make you very happy if you 
would trust yourself to me. I think in time I 
could win even your love. Will you give me leave 
to try, Kate ? ” 

The earnestness of his tone disturbed me, and I 
drew my hand sharply away. 

“ You have no right to call me Kate. I don’t 
choose to have liberties taken with me. ” 

“But I love you, Kate, ” he answered, not one 
whit abashed, “ and love waxes bold. ” 

“But I don’t love you, ” I answered quickly ; 


MR. BASKERVILLE. 


31 


“ I don’t, and I never shall do, and, if you say one 
word like this to me again, I will never speak to 
you so long as I live ! ” 

And with that I turned and ran away, feeling 
much more like a spoilt child than the dignified 
Miss Lovel I liked to appear, and conscious that 
Mr. Baskerville was quite of the same opinion. 

I felt very much annoyed with myself for not 
preserving that dignity of manner which I consi- 
dered becoming to me as mistress of my own 
house, and exceedingly angry with him for having 
driven me into such an exhibition of temper. 

I avoided him all the rest of the day, and treated 
him to my very coldest manner whenever we were 
forced to meet. I made it very plain to all that 
a quarrel had taken place. My mother looked 
anxious and troubled, Mrs. Baskerville grave and 
a little severe. 

I slept in a room that opened from my mother’s, 
and I generally brushed out my hair sitting beside 
her on the bed, for she retired early owing to her 
weak health, Avhilst I told her of any incidents of 
the day’s work that had specially interested me. 

To-night, however, I was unusually silent, and 
my mother presently said : 

“ So Mr. Baskerville has spoken to you, has he, 
Kate?” 

“ Yes,” I answered pettishly. “ Stupid fellow, 
why must he go and spoil everything ! ” 


32 THE MISTBESS OF LYDGATE. 

My mother sighed and asked gently, “ Are you 
sure you never could like him, dear ? He has many 
very noble qualities.” 

“ Oh, yes, I dare say; but I detest paragons ! ” 
No, no, mother, I am not going to sell my freedom 
to anybody yet ; and when I do, it will be to some- 
body very different from Mr. Thomas Baskerville.” 

“ He is very good, Kate dearest,” said my mother, 
still pleadingly. “ So very high-principled — and — 
very religious, too, as I understand.” 

My eyebrows went up, and the corners of my lips 
went down. I am afraid my gentle mother did 
little good to her cause by such arguments as these, 

“ I am not good or religious,” I answered reck- 
lessly. “ There is plenty of time for all that, as one 
gets older. I mean to enjoy myself whilst I am 
young, and get all the fun I can out of life. I cer- 
tainly won’t marry anybody who wants to preach 
to me. My husband must think as I do on such 
points. Saints must be very slow company, as I 
always did say ! ” 

My mother shook her head, but argument was 
not her forte, especially where her impetuous, mad- 
cap daughter was concerned. In her own gentle, 
clinging fashion, my mother was a good and a godly 
woman, but she lacked power to impress upon 
others any of her own convictions. 

“I wish it could have been, Kate,” she said. 
“ You want a good, steady husband to keep you in 


MR. B ASKER VILLE. 


S3 


check. A woman’s life is so beset with danger, 
and a man like that would be such a protection.” 

It was hardly an argument likely to serve the 
cause, when addressed to a young girl of my tem- 
perament. I merely laughed gayly. 

“Keep me in check! What an inducement! 
Danger ! Protection ! My dearest mother, Kate 
Lovel is quite capable of taking care of herself. 
Never fear for me ! I don’t want anybody’s help 
or protection. I am quite- strong enough to rule 
my own destiny.” 

Wild, reckless words, which often echoed through 
my mind in the } r ears to come ! The young are 
often bold, with the boldness of inexperience, but 
seldom, I think, quite so openly defiant as I was then. 

My mother gave up the struggle then, only 
saying softly and sadly — 

“Your dear father so greatly wished it.” 

I kissed my mother, still laughing. 

“ I really cannot marry to please my dear father 
or my dear mother either. When I marry, it will 
be to please myself ! ” 

I ran away laughing, feeling that I had come off 
rather brilliantly from this wordy battle, and much 
better pleased to discuss the matter with my mother 
than with Mr. Thomas Baskerville himself. 

After that interview with my lover, our visitors 
very shortly took their departure. I was not sorry 
to hear that they were going, and yet I felt that ic 


34 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


would be a little dull without the company of my 
new acquaintance, whose admiration had given 
pleasant food for my vanity. I knew that I should 
miss the pleasurable excitement of feeling myself 
noticed and thought about. I began to think that 
life at Lydgate was just a little dull. 

Before our guests left, I had one short interview 
with Mrs. Baskerville. 

I regarded that lady with very mixed feelings. 
She, like her son, always commanded a certain 
amount of respect and admiration, however reluc- 
tantly accorded. There was a firmness and a candor 
about her which could not but be felt, and it was 
tempered by sufficient kindliness and considera- 
tion to inspire affection as well as respect. I cer- 
tainly liked Mrs. Baskerville, and yet I stood 
a little in awe of her. 

This was such a new experience for me that I 
was puzzled by it, and often tried to make out its 
cause. I do not think I was very successful in 
doing this then ; but in looking back to those days 
now, with the experience of later life to guide me, 
I can see pretty plainly that what caused me 
mingled annoyance and diffidence in presence of 
Mrs Baskerville was her acuteness of perception, 
her power of analyzing and grasping character, and 
the very true yet not very flattering hints she 
sometimes dropped in regard to myself and my 
conduct. I, who was accustomed to consider my- 


MR. BARKERVILLE. 


35 


self above criticism, felt much astonished at finding 
any one bold enough to disparage my sayings or 
doings; and yet the very variety of the experi- 
ence gave it a certain piquancy, and I was honest 
enough, with all my vanities and faults, to see that 
Mrs. Baskerville was often uncommonly near the 
mark in what she said, although nothing would 
have induced me to own as much to anybody but 
myself. 

On the evening before their departure we 
chanced to find ourselves alone for a few minutes, 
and then ensued this brief conversation. 

“ So we are not to be any more to one another 
than simple friends, Kate ? ” 

I colored, but answered by a saucy question : 

“ Did you wish it otherwise, Mrs. Baskerville ? 
— you, who are so well acquainted with my faults ? ” 
“Yes, my dear, I did wish it otherwise, for 
underneath your many faults lies a warm heart, 
and a nature that might grow into a very noble 
one, would you once give it a fair chance.” 

I curtsied mockingly ; yet I was pleased to hear 
this compliment from such truth-telling lips. 

“ And you think that a husband like Mr. Thomas 
Baskerville would turn me at once into a model 
woman ? What a paragon pair we should be ! ” 

I always gave my natural levity full play before 
Mrs. Baskerville. I felt the temptation to shock 
her too strong to be resisted. 


36 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


She did not, however, appear to resent my words, 
but a very earnest look settled upon her face. She 
rose, laid her hand upon my arm and looked into 
my face in a way that I did not understand, but 
that at ouce checked the flow of idle words that 
rose to my lips, and made my face grave too. 

“My dear child,” she said, with much quiet 
feeling, “ you are still young, but not too young to 
understand that life is something more than a 
simple game of play. Do you know, Kate, that 
you stand in great danger of making sad havoc 
both of your own happiness, and that of those 
around you, by the invincible levity of your words 
and deeds? My child, remember that our lives 
are not given us to throw away on mere idling and 
pleasure-seeking. They are given us from God, to 
be used to His honor and glory. From those to 
whom much is given, much will be required. Have 
you ever thought of that when you have looked 
round you, with the pride of possession, upon your 
fair inheritance, and planned out the brilliant life 
you will lead ? ” 

I hung my head and made no answer. 

“ My child,” continued Mrs. Baskerville, gently, 
“do not delay that thought too long. For that 
which we sow we shall also reap.” 

I made a petulant movement and turned away. 
“ I am very kind to my tenants, and do a great deal 
of good — they all say that. I am not a bit worse 


MR. BA SKER VILLE. 37 

than other people, and by-and-by, when I have 
more time, I dare say I shall be religious too.” 

Footsteps outside warned us that we were about 
to be interrupted, and I was glad of it. Mrs. 
Baskerville said softly : 

“ My dear girl, remember that our lives are to 
be framed after the pattern of One Who ‘pleased 
not Himself.’ The more closely we tread in our 
Master’s footsteps, the greater our meed of happi- 
ness both here and hereafter. It is the bearing of 
the cross that makes the wearing of the crown.” 

I heeded her words little at the time; they 
seemed then but idle platitudes, but they came 
back to me later with a new significance. 



CHAPTER III. 


IK THE GAY WOULD. 



S I had expected, I did feel a little dull 
after the departure of our guests. I was 
awaking to a new sense of power, which 
my easy conquest of Thomas Baskerville had de- 
cidedly quickened. 

It seemed to me as if I could bring the whole 
world to my feet, if only the chance were vouch- 
safed me, and I chafed a good deal at the seclusion 
of my home, and my lonely life, which had to be 
spent so far away from the gay world in which I 
would fain move and shine. 

I felt myself growing old, and thought it very 
hard I should not be free to go about and see soci- 
ety as other girls did. 

Something of my discontent filtered out in my 
talks with my mother, and the result was that in 


IN TEE GAY WOULD . 39 

the following year I was sent to my Aunt Otway’s 
for three months in order to “ come out.” 

Mrs. Otway was living in a new place, and there- 
fore in a different house from the one I had visited 
before. General Otway had a new command, and 
now held a very important position in a large mil- 
itary town. He was a man of wealth and station, 
and his wife was a rich woman, too, so that their 
house was a centre of hospitality, and they were 
as gay as heart could wish. 

All this my cousin Geraldine had told me in her 
letters, and very much delighted and excited was 
I by the prospect before me. 

I was very warmly welcomed by my relatives, 
with whom I was a favorite. Geraldine and I were 
old friends and allies, and she seemed genuinely 
pleased to see me. We had a delightful time un- 
packing my trunks, and looking at all the new 
dresses and jewels with which I had been supplied. 
As we were both of us only daughters, we had a 
great variety of costly dresses and trinkets, and 
took a real pleasure, quite unmixed with envy, in 
each other’s possessions. 

She told me a great deal about her new home, 
her admirers, and her doings generally, and I list-, 
ened with the deepest interest. 

I soon threw myself heart and soul into every 
gayety which opened before me, and forgot every- 
thing else in the determination to be happy, and to 


40 the MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

make myself attractive and important at all cost. 

I took as my model my cousin Geraldine, whom 
I admired intensely in those days, and whom I 
thought the height of perfection and grace. Now 
I fear she was but a heartless coquette, who made 
light of all the most sacred feelings of our nature, 
and took pleasure in inflicting the keenest pain. 

Her training was perhaps more in fault than her- 
self for all this. She had never been taught to 
consider others, and she had not learned the lesson 
by any experience of her own. 

What shall I say of these days ? I could give 
many glowing descriptions of brilliant balls, gay 
water-parties, exciting horse-races, and dissipations 
innumerable, but to what end ? 

Suffice it to say that existence seemed to me 
then one long whirl of delight. I was entranced 
by the glamour of the life I led, and my head was 
completely turned by all the adulation I was re- 
ceiving. As an heiress and a beauty I attracted 
much attention, and I was not slow to observe and 
enjoy the sensation I caused. 

In justice to myself, I will say that I never set 
about intentionally to enslave any one. I could 
not help being gay and good-tempered and affable 
to every one I met. I was too happy not to treat 
everybody with a certain facile friendliness, and 
my manner no doubt deceived many aspirants to 
my favor without any effort on my part. But if I 


I# THE GAY WOULD. 41 

caused others to suffer, I, too, was not to be spared 
at last. 

Amongst my aunt’s most regular visitors was a 
certain Colonel Henry Scrope. He was a distant 
connection of General Otway, and therefore al- 
lowed the entree of the house in a fashion not ac- 
corded to many of the young officers. He was 
a favorite with the General, and indeed with the 
whole family. 

When I first arrived Colonel Scrope had been 
away on some military duty, and although I grew 
to know him by name, he was still a stranger to 
me. Geraldine often sang his praises, and I think 
she wished to prepossess me in his favor. She did 
not want so poor a man as a husband for herself, 
but I think she wished him to make a good mar- 
riage, and thought that my fortune entitled me to 
the luxury of choosing for myself. 1 had always 
boasted to her that I would marry for love, and 
love alone ; whilst Geraldine frankly admitted that 
she should not be rich at her father’s death, and 
that she must look out for wealth. 

I had been rather shocked at first by this bold 
statement, but the fine edge of my susceptibilities 
soon wore off in my new life, and I soon ceased to 
wonder at such a decision. 

At length Colonel Scrope returned from his 
wanderings, and I found that my days of careless 
enjoyment were over forever. When first I saw 


42 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

the young soldier, I unhesitatingly pronounced him 
to be the handsomest man I had ever seen. How 
far I should endorse that opinion now I can hardly 
say, but undoubtedly he was very good-looking, 
with a face and figure that defied criticism, and in 
addition to these advantages that nameless touch 
of melancholy and softness in voice and manner 
that does more to win a woman’s heart than the 
most perfect features or faultless face. 

Henry Scrope’s eyes had a power of expression 
I have never seen rivalled anywhere. You will 
laugh when I add that they most resembled the 
eyes of a dog ; but so it is. There was a mute 
pleading in their liquid depths, a trustful, watching 
patience in their every glance which is more like 
the look which is seen in the eyes of a collie dog 
than in anything else in the world. 

Those eyes it was, I think, that did the mischief. 
I could not resist them. To me they spoke more 
eloquently than any words could do. 

Henry Scrope was something like a son of the 
house, in the way that he came and went at my 
aunt’s abode. He was always welcome, and at this 
time he took full advantage of the liberty accorded 
him. He was always at hand to escort us wher- 
ever we wished to go. He never grumbled at our 
exactions. The more we used him the better he 
seemed pleased. He was continually joining us in 
our rides, or asking leave to take us on the river in 


IN THE GAY WORLD 43 

his boat. He was with us often from morning till 
night, and we never tired of his company. 

I was living all this time in a sort of dream, and 
never tried to analyze my own happiness. I was too 
inexperienced to guess from whence sprang all this 
intense joy that was like nothing I had before 
experienced. I drifted with the current and was 
content. 

Once, and only once, was this state of tranquil 
joy disturbed, and in this wise. 

Amongst 1113^ rejected suitors was a certain Cap- 
tain Francis Lyon, the only one amongst many 
whose dismissal gave me any sense of pain or shame. 

I had liked the young man, who was far more 
simple and manly than many of his fellow-officers ; 
and I knew by instinct that the love he offered me 
was true gold, not the dross that many held out as 
genuine ore. I had felt sorry that my friendliness, 
and the liking I had shown him, had encouraged 
him to hope for more, and when I said I never 
could be his wife, I had told him that I would 
gladly be his friend. 

This is not a very wise concession to make in 
most cases, but Captain Lyon was worthy of the 
trust reposed in him. He never spoke one word of 
love, but our friendly relations continued, and I was 
very fond of him, after a sisterly fashion. 

One day about this time, as I chanced to be walk- 
ing alone in the garden, wrapped in very pleasant 


44 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


thoughts, which I did not allow to take too definite 
a shape, I suddenly saw that Captain Lyon had ap- 
proached, and was regarding me with a look which 
I did not understand. His face was pale and he 
seemed disturbed. 

I greeted him gayly, but he did not answer, and 
said, fixing his eyes upon me earnestly : 

44 Miss Lovel, may I ask you a question ? ” 

44 Of course you may.” 

“ And you will not be offended?” 

“ Oh, no ! ” 

Still he paused, and seemed reluctant to speak. 

44 Well,” I asked impatiently, 44 what is it?” 

44 Miss Lovel,” he asked, speaking suddenly and 
rapidly, “has Henry Scrope asked you to be his 
wife?” 

My face flamed scarlet and my eyes flashed. I 
drew my head up haughtily, and answered, 44 No.” 

44 Thank God for that ! ” exclaimed the young man. 
44 Then I have not come too late. Miss Lovel,” he 
continued, speaking in the same rapid, yet incisive 
way, 44 1 have no right to speak to you thus, save 
the right you have given me to be your friend, but 
I cannot keep silence. I must give you one word 
of warning. Henry Scrope ivill ask you to be his 
wife, and that before very long, but do not — do not 
be deluded by his soft speeches and appealing 
glances. That man has no right to ask you or any 
other woman to he his wife . Believe me that I speak 








IN TEE GAY WORLD. 45 

the truth; and never, never, give him what he 
asks.” 

Before I had recovered from my astonishment, 
my adviser was gone. He had spoken his warning, 
which still seemed to ring in my ears, and had de- 
parted. 

Indignant, frightened, incredulous, I was never 
less mistress of myself ; and at that moment I saw 
Henry Scrope slowly approaching, from the direc- 
tion which Francis Lyon had taken. 

I forgot everything then ; warnings and fears 
alike fled away. What were meaningless words 
and mysterous hints to me ? What was the world 
to me beside my love ? For I loved Henry Scrope, 
and I was soon to know it. 



CHAPTER IV. 


HENRY SCROPE. 



|E advanced towards me slowly, and when 
he drew near he asked : 

SI “ Who was that talking to you just now ? ” 

“ Captain Lyon.” 

“ Ah ! ” answered Colonel Scrope, smiling, “ he 
is not very fond of me.” 

“ Why not ? ” I asked quickly. 

The young man shrugged his shoulders and 
laughed. 

“ Why indeed? Ah well, we cannot account for 
all our likes and dislikes, can we ? Sometimes they 
seem born in us. Lyon has always been my enemy, 
for some inscrutable reason, unknown to me, ever 
since our paths crossed. I am told he is jealous of 
me, but really I do not know why he should be. 



HENRY SCROPE. 


47 


He is a good fellow enough, I believe, but crotchety 
— very crotchety.” 

I breathed freely once again. When we are 
young a few reassuring words are enough to over- 
throw our very worst fears. Hearing that Captain 
Lyon was peculiar, and had a grudge against Henry 
Scrope, was quite enough to undermine the effect 
that his warning might have produced. Jealousy 
would, I knew, prompt men to all kinds of un- 
worthy subterfuges. I believed that Captain Lyon, 
jealous of his rival’s probable success, had tried to 
poison my mind against him, and I deeply resented 
so unworthy a trick. 

So, when Henry Scrope began to tell his tale of 
love (which he did with a grace and tenderness and 
ease that would have spoken to a more experienced 
woman of the glibness of long practice, but which 
seemed to me too beautiful and wonderful to rouse 
the faintest suspicion of insincerity), he poured it 
into willing ears. I was transported into a new 
world of intoxicating happiness, and he knew my 
answer before it had passed my lips. 

He loved me, and I loved him. It was all so 
strange and wonderful and blissful, that I lost all 
sense of prudence, but I trusted him so utterly that 
I might in any case have done the same. I told 
him with a laugh of happy pride of Captain Lyon’s 
warning, and laughed again to think how com- 
pletely the ignoble shaft had missed its mark. 


/ 

48 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

Scrope caressed me tenderly, but I saw his brow 
darken. I wondered for a moment if I had done 
wrong in making this confidence, but I gave the 
matter scarce a second thought. How could I keep 
a secret, even a small one, from the man I loved? 
Impossible! Henceforward we should have but 
one mind and heart in everything. He would con- 
ceal nothing from me, nor I from him. 

So we exchanged our vows of unchanging love, 
and were happy as I think only young lovers can 
ever be. It is only youth that can feel the un- 
alloyed bliss that comes from inexperience of life 
and its possibilities. It is not the highest form of 
happiness, but for the brief time that it lasts it is 
very sweet. 

Everybody was pleased by the news. I believe 
that General and Mrs. Otway had tried to bring 
about this connection for their young kinsman. It 
was desirable from a worldly point of view that he 
should marry an heiress ; but of course I never 
thought of that, I was wrapped in love’s young 
dream. I thought only that I had found my hero. 

My visit, however, was nearly ended, and I knew 
that my mother must be wanting me back. Postal 
arrangements in those days were not what they are 
now. Fresh plans were not made with lightning 
speed, and I made no attempt to change mine, even 
to secure a few more days of Henry’s society. He 
must soon come to see my mother, and then we 


HENRY SCROPE. 


49 


could renew our vows, and grow more and more 
closely united in the sylvan solitudes that sur- 
rounded my lovely home. 

I did not write to my mother of the important 
step I had taken. Letters were so slow and un- 
satisfactory that I would not trust my precious 
secret to their keeping. I had, of course, to obtain 
her consent to my engagement, as I was a minor 
and she my guardian ; but I knew she would never 
raise any barrier in the way of my happiness, and 
I had no doubt as to what her answer would be. 
I was able to tell Henry, with the pride of certainty, 
that I was practically my own mistress in all 
things. 

So I went home, restored to my old confidence 
and spirits. 

Henry Scrope escorted me part of the way back 
towards my old home. Travelling in those days 
was tedious ; but it did not seem so to me so long 
as Henry was my companion. He poured tender 
vows into my ear, talked of his changeless fidelity, 
and, as the time of parting drew near, wondered, 
with a gentle sigh, if I should prove as true as he. 

44 Henrv,” I said reproachfullv, “how can you 
doubt me?” 

44 1 do not doubt you. I know you are true as 
steel — I have boundless confidence in you and in 
your love. But the world is a cold and cruel place, 
and you are coveted by many for your beauty and 


50 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


your high position. Many men are unscrupulous 
in the means they employ towards gaining their 
end. Suppose you hear evil reports of me? Sup- 
pose calumnies are again circulated about me and 
my life ? Is your love strong enough to trust me 
through all?” 

I laid my hand in his. 

44 Henry,” I said, 44 I will never believe you any- 
thing but the best and noblest of men.” 

44 You give me new courage. Promise me, Kate, 
that you will never condemn me unheard.” 

44 1 promise.” 

44 And that you will love me always ! ” 

44 Always — forever.” 

44 1 shall come and claim you soon,” he said. 44 1 
cannot wait too long for you. When will you let 
me come and take you away ? ” 

My face was crimson, but I was not ashamed to 
raise it to his. 

44 You must come and see my mother, Henry, 
when you can get your leave ; you must settle that 
with her. I am not of age yet.” 

44 1 cannot wait for that time ! I must have you 
soon. You are not afraid to change the old life for 
the new ? ” 

44 Oh no ! ” 

44 And your mother ? She will not stand in the 
way of our happiness ? ” 

44 Oh no, I think not. She is so sweet and 


HENRY SC ROPE. 51 

gentle — such a dear mother ; but come soon, 
Henry. I shall so want her to see you, that she 
may learn to love you too. You will come soon, 
dear, will you not ? ” 

“ I will, I will ! ” 



CHAPTER V. 


MY LOVER. 



REACHED home at last ; and as I drove 
up through the park to the fine old house, 
I felt a thrill of pride and joy in the thought 
that I should some day make this Henry’s home, and 
that our happy lives would, in all probability, be 
spent in peaceful seclusion at the old home I loved 
so well. Never could it seem a dull place when 
Henry was master there. I felt more glad of my 
wealth and station in thinking howl could bestow 
it upon him than I had ever been in days of old. 

I had left Lydgate feeling discontented, rest- 
less, almost depressed. I returned in the gayest 
of spirits. The happiness that had entered my 
life was all too new and wonderful to admit of 
even the faintest misgiving or fear. 

My mother’s welcome was very tender and sweet. 




MY LOVER. 


53 


I felt, as I received it, how very good a thing it 
was to have a gentle, loving mother to come home 
to with every tale of sorrow or joy — a mother who 
was always ready with sympathy and comprehend- 
ing tenderness. I never had the smallest wish to 
conceal any matter, great or small, from my 
mother. Her approval was so sweet, her disap- 
proval so very gentle and reasonable, that I never 
felt any reluctance to discuss with her any and 
every question that arose concerning myself or 
others. My mother never visibly exerted her 
authority over me — I think it might have been 
better for me had she sometimes done so — but at 
least she was so dear, that her looks and words 
exercised great influence over me, even in my 
wildest moods. Mine was a nature more easily 
led than driven, and as I grew older I paid more 
heed to my mother’s gentle counsels and sugges- 
tions than I had done in my days of childish wil- 
fulness. 

So it was not long after my arrival at home that 
I, sitting in the twilight by my mother’s couch, 
told her the whole history of my love for Henry 
Scrope and the promise I had made him. 

My mother was distinctly agitated, as I could 
tell by the trembling of the hands that rested on 
my head. It was natural that she should feel a 
good deal this confession, which was so all-import- 
ant in the future of her only child ; but I knelt 


54 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


beside her with my arms about her neck, and told 
her that no marriage of mine could ever, ever 
change my love for her, and that she was to 
live with us here, and be taken care of by both of 
us, just as though I had never married at all. 

u You are not going to lose a daughter, mother 
dear, but gain a son. Henry says he will be a son 
to you, and he is so noble and good. You will 
love him as soon as you see him.” 

“ I will try, my darling, for your sake ; but a 
stranger always make me nervous. We know 
nothing about him, Kate. I am not sure if I 
ought to consent without making inquiries, and I 
do not know to whom to go.” 

I smiled indulgently and stroked my mother’s 
hair with a caressing, protecting gesture. 

“ I will tell you where to go — to Uncle Otway. 
Henry is related distantly to him, and you are 
wrong in thinking that we know nothing about 
him, for I know a great deal, and it is all to show 
how brave and noble he is. Ah, mother, have not 
our brave soldiers, who have saved the honor of 
our country, some claim upon us all? Now, 
mother, I am sure you must be very glad that I am 
loved by a man like Henry Scrope ! ” 

My mother was vanquished. She said she must 
write to her brother-in-law before she could say 
more; but I knew that my cause was won, and 
that Henry would be received as a son. 


MY LOVER . 55 

“ Is he a good man ? ” my mother once asked. 
“ A man like Thomas Baskerville ? ” - 

I laughed gayly at the comparison. 

“ He is not at all like Mr. Baskerville,” I an- 
swered ; I am afraid I do not desire him to be. Mr. 
Baskerville did very well for a kind of pattern 
young man, to pay visits with his mamma and show 
how very exemplary he could be ; but don’t you 
think lie would be a little tedious when it came to 
living always with him ? Oh no, Henry is not at 
all like Mr. Thomas Baskerville.” 

My mother shook her head gently. 

“Ah, Kate, you do not appreciate Mr. Basker- 
ville. He is a very good man.” 

“ I don’t think I like good men ! ” I answered 
recklessly ; “at least, not good young men. They 
are so dreadfully tame and serious. There was 
Captain Lyon. Everybody said how good he was 
— read the Bible to his men, and had such an in- 
fluence over them, and all that. It sounds very 
nice and proper ; but really I do think I like a 
little more dash and manliness. Now Captain 
Lyon always reminded me of Mr. Baskerville ; but 
Henry isn’t the least bit like either.” 

And then I launched out into eloquent praises 
of my hero, described his handsome face and figure, 
his eyes, his hair, his voice and manner, until any- 
body less patient than my mother would have been 
fairly sickened. But my mother listened with 


56 


TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


placid interest, and promised to love my Henry for 
my sake, until lie came to see us and could be loved 
for his own. 

General Otway’s answer to my mother’s letter 
was most satisfactory. He spoke in warm terms 
of his young kinsman’s character, parentage, and 
position in the army. He had already outstripped 
most of his contemporaries on the path towards 
fame and promotion, and would, no doubt, continue 
as brilliantly as he had begun. His antecedents 
were irreproachable, and if his wealth was not 
equal to mine, his family was, and there was no 
reason to doubt that, in due time, he would win 
both fame and fortune in the career he had 
adopted. 

After receiving that letter, my mother gave her 
formal consent to our engagement, and Henry was 
pressingly invited to visit us. 

He was not long in answering this invitation, 
and in person. General Otway, I suppose, made 
his way plain for him to get away, and before 
many weeks were over I had the intense happi- 
ness of presenting my “future” husband to my 
mother. 

Henry was all that even I could wish, so gentle, 
so courteous, so filial in his attentions to my beau- 
tiful mother. He won his way to her heart, as 
he had won his way to mine, and we were all very 
happy. 


MY LOVER. 57 

One day, as we were riding out together, Henry 
asked : 

“ Where will your mother go when we are mar- 
ried?” 

“ Go ! ” I repeated blankly. 

“ I thought, under the terms of your father’s 
will, that her right to remain at Lydgate expired 
upon your marriage.” 

I laughed, for I thought he was in joke. 

“ There is no question of right between my 
mother and me,” I answered. “ My home will be 
hers, of course, so long as she lives.” 

“ That does not always answer,” he said. 

But I still could not believe he was doing more 
than teasing me, and all I said was : 

“ My mother will never leave Lydgate. Why, 
it would kill her; besides, I never could spare her, 
nor you either, for I know you love her too.” 

He looked at me rather oddly out of the corner 
of his eyes. I was much too young and inexperi- 
enced to have the faintest idea of his true meaning. 
One day he said to me: 

“ You must not keep me waiting long, my Kate. 
I am an impatient man. I want you to be my 
very own, and that soon.” 

“ This seems happiness enough for the present,” 
I answered, looking lovingly up at him. “ Why 
should we wish for more just yet ? ” 

He caressed me ; but he was not satisfied. 


58 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


“ Men are selfish creatures, you know. I want 
to make sure of my happiness.’’ 

“ Are you not sure of it already ? 

“ Not till I can call you my very own. I want 
to make you my wife — then we can defy fate and 
the world together.” 

I did not understand his vehemence ; but I put it 
down to his great love, and felt flattered by it. If 
he were so much more impatient than I, his love 
must be even greater than mine. 

I told him he must speak to my mother. I could 
not act without her consent in such a matter ; and 
by-and-by I innocently asked after Captain Lyon. 

A very black look crossed Henry’s face, and he 
inquired almost fiercely what made me think of 
him. 

“ Do not be angry with him,” I said gently. 
“ You know I never believed what he said.” 

But this allusion to the younger officer seemed 
to have upset Henry thoroughly, and he could not 
recover his placidity for some time. I was much 
struck at times like these, by the intensity of his 
love for me. Even trifles that seemed to interpose 
between us roused such deep emotion. 

Girls at eighteen, when they are quite inexpe- 
rienced in the ways of the world, and are besides, 
very much in love, are hardly expected to be dis- 
cerners of character. I do not know that I was 
more blind than others in my place would have 


MY LOVER . 


59 


my been, save, perhaps, that my training had 
made me more independent and headstrong in my 
judgments than most young girls. 

On the following evening Henry said something 
to my mother about his impatience for the mar- 
riage. For myself, I was content to wait some time 
longer. I liked being engaged very much, and 
had no special wish to hurry on the course of 
events. But, then, Henry’s wishes were of the 
first importance. 

I did not for a moment suppose that my mother 
would oppose Henry’s will, and made up my mind 
that a marriage out of hand would be the result of 
this conversation. 

My mother asked how soon he wished the wed- 
ding to take place. 

“ In three months at latest,” he answered, in 
what I thought rather a peremptory way. 

My mother shook her head. 

“ I could not possibly consent to anything so 
quick as that,” she answered quietly. 44 Kate is but 
a child still. She will not be nineteen till June 
next year. In the July or August of that year I 
will arrange for the marriage to take place ; but 
not before.” 

I think I breathed a little more freely, to hear 
that I was to have a yeat more of unfettered lib- 
erty ; but Henry’s face grew very dark. 

“My dear madam,” he said with ill-repressed 


60 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


anger, “surely you do not expect me to wait a 
whole year for your daughter ? ” 

“ Is my daughter not worth waiting for ? ” asked 
my mother, with unexpected firmness and prompt- 
ness. “If you think not, you are at liberty to say 
so at once, and withdraw.” 

“ Mother ! Mother ! ” I remonstrated aghast ; but 
these simple words seemed to recall Henry to him- 
self. 

He saw that he had touched upon one of the 
few points on which my mother was not to be trifled 
with. Gentle as she always was, on certain matters 
she could be firm. 

“ I bow to your decision, madam,” he said. “ I 
must smother my impatience as best I can.” 

But after that interview he seemed ill at ease, 
and not quite so gay or so loving as before. I had 
however, hardly time to detect this change before 
he was summoned back to his military duties. He 
left with very great apparent reluctance, and prom- 
ised to return as soon as he could get another leave 
of absence ; and when he went it seemed as if he 
took away the summer sunshine with him. 



CHAPTER VI. 


STRANGE TIDINGS. 



MUST confess that life at Lydgate seemed 
sadly stale after my lover had left us. In 
those days absence was a very different 
thing from what it can be now. It was a dreary 
blank, whose darkness was only occasionally re- 
lieved by a letter from the absentee. True, those 
letters, when they did come, made up for much. 
They were not like the flimsy modern epistles, 
dashed off in a hurry to catch the daily post, 
but bulky packets, containing a real detailed 
account of all that had passed since the last 
missive had been despatched. These letters 
were a great treat when they did come, but the 
intervals were long, and a sort of mist seemed to 
obscure all persons and places not within the im- 
mediate neighborhood, and shut us out from any 
sense of participation in the lives of those we loved. 




62 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


This was more particularly the case with us at 
this time, for Henry was not a good correspondent. 
His duties, he said, hindered him from writing as 
fully as he would wish, and many weeks often 
went by without a sign of a letter. 

My spirits at this time were fluctuating and un- 
certain, and sometimes I begged my mother to 
reconsider her verdict and consent to an earlier 
marriage — things seemed so dull and flat in the 
ordinary routine of home life. But for once my 
mother was resolute. She told me that patience 
was the greatest of all teachers, and that if I could 
not wait quietly for the realization of my happi- 
ness, it showed how much need there was for me 
to learn that lesson. I tried to listen with patience 
to these reflections, but I was fitful in my moods 
and altogether out of sorts ; and I could not be- 
lieve that anything disagreeable could be salutary. 

In point of fact, I had been living for many 
months in an atmosphere of excitement and adula- 
tion, and I could not settle down to the old, quiet 
life with any sort of satisfaction. 

I wanted change and excitement. I had tasted 
the delights of power and fascination, and I had 
drunk deeply of the cup of pleasure. It seemed 
to me as if the only way to be thoroughly happy 
was to live in a gay world of fashion, and join in 
a perpetual whirl of amusement, where a round of 
admirers was always at command to give zest to 


STBAUGE TILINGS, 


63 


each day’s pleasures. I was in the worst possible 
frame of mind for meeting the blow of fate that 
was hanging oyer me and my future. 

Summer had merged into autumn, and autumn 
was fast changing into winter, when this blow fell. 
It was a clear, bright November day, and I had 
been a long, solitary ride oyer the moors and through 
the woods, indulging in a reverie hardly likely to 
make me the more contented with my quiet, 
secluded life, and I had come home decided to have 
another battle with my mother, and win her con- 
sent to an immediate marriage. 

I thought less of Henry and my love for him, 
than of my own dismal dulness, when I made this 
resolution. I had come to the conclusion that I 
was being buried alive, and was wasting all my 
youth and beauty where it profited me nothing, and 
I was determined to put an end to such an exist- 
ence at all costs. 

I did not particularly care about being married 
quickly, but it seemed to me the only escape from 
a life of hopeless monotony. 

I went indoors in this unenviable frame of mind, 
and made my way to my mother’s room. As soon 
as I looked at her, I saw that something had oc- 
curred to agitate her, and this made me feel some- 
what injured, as I could not well disturb her further 
by an instant unveiling of my woes. 

u Is anything the matter ? ” I asked rather 


64 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


ungraciously. My mother tried to smile, as if at 
ease. 

“ I have had a visitor in your absence, dear,” 
she said, trying to speak naturally. “ A visitor who 
is a stranger to me, but not to you.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” I asked pettishly. “ Who 
has been here?” 

“ A Captain Francis Lyon. He tells me he knew 
you when you were staying at your aunt’s house.” 

“ He was one of the men who wanted to marry 
me,” I answered with a little more animation than 
before. “ Where is he now ? Didn’t he stay to 
see me even ? ” 

“ He is at the Lydgate Hotel. I have asked him 
to dine with us. Is he not the young man you 
spoke of as being so good ? 

“ Oh, yes, he is good enough, I suppose ; but I 
don’t much like him. He can be mean and spite- 
ful too. I think most good people are inclined to 
be that.” 

My mother did not answer, but only said : 

“ He looked very ill. He said he had been ill 
in the spring, and had never got over it.” 

How was it that Captain Lyon had come at all 
into this out-of-the-way place? What had brought 
him into Lydgate in the dreary winter days ? Did 
this strange visit portend anything unusual? 
Could he be the bearer of any news, good or bad, 
which might have a special interest for me ? 


STRANGE TIDINGS . 


65 


I pondered these questions many times as I 
changed my riding-habit for my dinner dress, tak- 
ing pains with my toilet, so as to produce a favor- 
able impression on Captain Lyon ; but I left my 
room as ignorant and undecided as I had entered 
it. 

My mother and the Captain were deep in talk 
as I entered the drawing-room, and, by the sudden 
stop my presence caused, I might have known that 
the conversation referred in some way to me. But 
I was thinking of the effect my appearance was 
likely to produce upon my former admirer, and 
heeded nothing else. 

Captain Lyon greeted me quietly and courte- 
ously. I was struck by the change in his appear- 
ance from the last time that I had seen him. He 
looked, as I thought, very ill. His face was pale 
and thin, and he had aged ten years, as it seemed 
to me, since I had seen him that evening in the 
garden. 

During the dinner hour he talked with some- 
thing of an effort, and he avoided meeting my eye 
— or so I fancied — and was hardly at his ease. I 
had a great many questions to ask about old 
friends whom I had known at my aunt’s house, 
and he answered them all, but did not seem to take 
any pleasure in reminiscences of past days. 

I did not mention my lover’s name, feeling sure 
that any allusions to him must be unwelcome and 


66 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


out of place ; but I was disappointed at finding 
the Captain so grave and uncommunicative. 

When dinner was ended, and my mother and I 
had left our guest to entertain himself, I was about 
to begin a complaint of his dulness, when she 
spoke with a certain nervous haste. 

“ Captain Lyon and I have a little business mat- 
ter to discuss together, my love. I have asked 
him to join me in the study. We will come to you 
here later, when our talk is over.” 

And my mother made a somewhat hasty exit, 
before I had recovered from my astonishment. 

I spent a very uneasy and anxious hour by my- 
self in the drawing-room. I could not imagine 
what important affair my mother could possibly 
have to discuss in which I might not take a share. 
As a rule, I was the one who undertook the man- 
agement of all business matters. A presentiment 
of dread hung over me. I was oppressed and 
fearful, I knew not why. 

After what seemed an endless time, my mother 
reappeared. Her face was pale and sorrowful, and 
her eyes looked as if they had shed tears. I saw 
that she had been through some trying ordeal ; and 
I made her lie down on her couch before I asked 
one of the many questions that rushed to my 
lips. 

“Where is Captain Lyon?” 

“ He has gone away.” 


STRANGE TIDINGS. 


07 


“ Gone away ! I thought he had come to spend 
the evening here ! ” 

u He came, dear Kate, to make some very pain- 
ful disclosures to me ; and, that being done, we 
both considered it best for him to go. We are 
hardly in the vein for a social evening.” 

My heart beat thick and fast. I was much dis- 
turbed, but would not show it. 

“I suppose Captain Lyon has been maligning 
Henry. It is one of his noble ways. He has done 
it before, only I knew better than to believe it. 

I was half afraid of my own words before they 
had left my lips ; but my mother did not reprove 
me, she saw that I was not myself. 

“ Kate, my love,” she said quietly, “ we have 
both been greatly deceived, and my grief for you 
is very great, for your trust and love were wholly 
given to one who has proved himself a false and 
wicked man. My dear child, you can never be the 
wife of Henry Scrope.” 

I smiled a sickly smile. My mother was of so 
yielding a temperament, of such a timid, hesitating 
nature, that her calm certainty filled me with dis- 
may. I was sure that, had the barrier been any- 
thing but insuperable, she would have been the 
victim of a thousand doubts and hopes and fears ; 
but now she was simply decided and firm — a state 
of mind unusual with her. My heart sank, but I 


68 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


gave no sign of any such despondency ; I answered 
cheerfully, and as I thought conclusively : 

“ It is to late too talk of all that now. I have 
promised to be the wife of Henry Scrope, and I 
mean to keep my promise.” 

“ That is impossible, my love,” answered my 
mother ? “ Henry Scrope has a wife already.” 

I sprang to my feet and laughed aloud, a harsh, 
unnatural laugh. Wild words of incredulity and 
scorn sprang to my lips ; but my mother checked 
me as quickly as possible. 

“ My dear,” she said, u Captain Lyon has shown 
me the proofs, and you can see them with your own 
eyes ; but let me first tell you the story as he told 
it to me. Colonel Scrope and he came from the 
same place in the North, and were friends and 
companions in boyhood, though Henry was many 
years the elder. He was a reckless young man at 
all times, and when still quite young — hardly more 
than a boy — he made a private marriage with a 
pretty village girl with whom all the lads of the 
place were more or less in love. His family were 
greatly scandalized, and never recognized the mar- 
riage in any way. Henry grew heartily ashamed 
of it in a short time, and never really owned 
his wife at all. She went on living in her father’s 
cottage, and he went off to the wars. She has 
never urged her claim upon him or his family, be- 
ing, as Captain Lyon tells me, a good and humble- 


STRANGE TIDINGS. 


69 


minded woman. She married him for love, after 
having stood ont for long against his pleading, 
knowing herself unsuited to him in rank and sta- 
tion ; and she has never ceased to love him, in 
spite of his desertion of her, which she has felt most 
cruelly. She has one little boy, who is really 
Henry Scrope’s heir. The mother, Captain Lyon 
tells me, is slowly dying. She loved her husband 
too well not to pine after him, and she has been 
slowly sinking for many years in a sort of decline. 
In all probability, Henry Scrope will be a free man 
in six months’ time ; but I think that neither you 
nor I can ever forget that at the time he wooed 
and won you, and would have made you his wife, 
he had already a wife living.” 

I sprang up and paced the room in great agita- 
tion. The ground seemed slipping away from 
under my feet. I might profess to disbelieve the 
news I had heard, but in my heart I was convinced 
of its truth. I knew that Captain Lyon would 
never raise a charge which he could not substan- 
tiate.. I had been deceived — grossly, cruelly de- 
ceived — and that by the man on whom I had 
expended the whole wealth of my young love. My 
mother presently began to speak again. 

“ You see, Kate, Henry Scrope knew that Cap- 
tain Lyon was the only man that you were likely 
to come across who knew the secret of his early 
marriage. His family always declined to consider 


70 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


him married, and were delighted at his engagement 
with an heiress. You would not have heard the 
truth from them. The only danger lay in Captain 
Lyon’s possible line of conduct. If Henry Scrope 
had been able to persuade us, he would have made 
you his wife.” 

“ I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it ! ” cried I, 
wringing my hands together in uncontrollable emo- 
tion. 

“ My dearest love, I am grieved for you — more 
grieved than I can say,” answered my mother ; 
“but, believe me, it is the best way to face facts, 
and not to fight against them. It is more painful 
at the time, but the cure is more speedy and com- 
plete. Listen farther. When Colonel Scrope went 
back to his quarters, knowing that he could not 
hope to marry you till next year, and when Cap- 
tain Lyon’s health was returning, he found him out 
and assured him, on his word of honor as a gentle- 
man, that his wife was dead, and had died before 
he asked you to be his wife. So earnest was he in 
his protestations, that Captain Lyon almost be- 
lieved him, but could not be satisfied without 
visiting his native place to ascertain if this really 
were the case. It was with difficulty that he ob- 
tained leave of absence, for Colonel Scrope reso- 
lutely opposed its being granted, and put endless 
difficulties in the way. (He seemed to have some 
premonition of his former friend’s purpose.) It 


STRANGE TIDINGS. 


71 


was only last week that the visit was made. The 
wife is still living, though, as I say, in the last stage 
of decline. As soon a s he had made sure of his 
facts, and obtained a few proofs of his story, he 
came here to communicate with me. He apolo- 
gized humbly for interference in a matter which 
was no affair of his, and which could only bring 
pain to all concerned ; but as he was the only man 
living who knew and would disclose the true facts 
of the case, his conscience would not let him rest 
satisfied without doing so. I told him, in your 
name and my own, that we thanked him from our 
hearts for his timely revelations.” 

I made no answer. I could not yet grasp what 
had befallen me. 

“ Did General Otway know ? ” I asked. 

“ No, no ! He had no idea of such a thing. No 
one knew save the nearest" relatives of the young 
man. My brother-in-law is but a distant connec- 
tion. No one there had even a suspicion. This 
marriage took place so early in his life, and was so 
completely ignored, that those who have known 
him for years would find it very hard to believe in 
such a thing. Nobody is to blame but the poor, 
misguided young man himself.” 

“ I promised never to condemn him unheard!” 
I cried, still resisting passionately. 

u You can write to him, Kate,” answered my 
mother. “ I cannot permit you to meet him again 


72 


TI1E MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


at present ; but you can write. I will send a spe- 
cial messenger with your letter, who shall bring 
the answer back. If this is any satisfaction to you, 
you may do it.” 

I wrote my letter that very night. I poured out 
my whole soul in passionate pleading, and in ap- 
peal to know the truth, and promised to trust him 
in spite of all, if he would only deny the cruel 
charge trumped up against him. It was a foolish, 
almost a wicked letter, prompted by the wayward 
spirit that stirred within me. If my mother had 
read it, it would have shocked her dreadfully; but 
she trusted me more than I deserved, and my letter 
went as it was. 

Never week was longer than the one which fol- 
lowed the despatch of my missive. The hours 
seemed to crawl. I fumed and fretted, and wore 
myself and my good, patient mother almost into a 
fever, with my ceaseless speculations, and my re- 
sentment against Fate. But at last the messenger 
arrived and the letter was brought. It only con- 
tained a few short sentences, almost brutal in their 
abrupt incisiveness, and characteristic of the true 
nature of the man — nature I had never really 
known. 

“ Dear Miss Lovel, — The little farce is played 
out and over. It was very pretty whilst it lasted; 
but, thanks to that meddler, whom I must repay in 


STRANGE TIDINGS. 


73 


my own way, it is over now. I don’t much think 
we were well suited to each other after all, so per- 
haps it is all for the best. Your mother and your 
home were a little too solemn and stately for me 
I shall always think pleasantly of our little early 
romance. 

“ Henhy Sckope.” 

That was all the answer I received to the letter 
in which I had poured out my whole soul in unal- 
terable devotion. I was filled with a burning 
shame and anger like nothing I had ever before 
experienced. I did not show the letter to my 
mother, who was anxiously watching me, but burst 
into a passion of tears, and sought my own room, 
where I shut myself up in solitary misery, to nurse 
my grief and humiliation for the best part of a 
week. 

At the end of that time, by the ordinary chan- 
nel, I received a letter from my cousin Geraldine. 
The concluding words ran as follows : 

“ That handsome, wicked Colonel Scrope has 
come unexpectedly into a fortune, and is more 
popular than eyer. His story is known now ; but 
as his wife is dying, nobody seems to think it mat- 
ters much. Why did you not wait for him ? I 
suppose you were really tired of one another. He 
says he shall never try to marry an heiress again. 
They are much too independent and fond of their 


74 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


own way. He can please himself now that he has 
this money ; and he will have no difficulty when 
that poor creature does die, for he is more fascina- 
ting and delightful than ever/’ 

I read this letter with feelings of*uncontrollable 
disgust. In the times of which I write, morality 
in high circles was at a very low ebb. Thus it was 
that Scrope’s late conduct excited little or no crit- 
icism amongst his fashionable acquaintances ; but 
to me this revelation of the way in which the 
world regarded such things was horrible. My bet- 
ter nature, as well as my pride and vanity, were 
sorely outraged, and I began to feel a healthy de- 
testation of the man whose image I had so cherished 
in my heart that at last I had made of it an idol. 

I tore Geraldine’s letter into fragments, and 
flung it into the fire. 

“ Henry Scrope ! ” I cried passionately, “ I believe 
you are the worst man that ever lived ! I shall 
never waste another thought or regret upon you ! ” 



CHAPTER Vll. 


DARK DAYS. 


T will easily be believed that the next few 
months passed drearily enough for me. 

I was intensely humiliated by the episode 
in my life that I have just related, and humiliation 
is about the hardest thing that a girl of my proud 
and self-willed nature can be called upon to bear. 

I had been so confident of my own power to 
shape my destiny according to my own wishes — 
I had looked upon myself as so irresistible, in my 
beauty, my wealth, and my youthful strength — no 
doubts as to the success of any scheme in which I 
embarked had ever seriously crossed my mind. I 
believed in n^self and my own cleverness with 
a tenacity of self-confidence that seems almost 
incredible to me now. I had climbed to so great 
a height that m} r fall was proportionately severe. 

After all my grand romantic dreams of love and 





76 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


chivalry — after all my vows and protestations that 
I could never be deceived, and could always dis- 
tinguish true gold from dross — after having cast 
away in disdain more than one true and honest 
love — I had myself fallen a victim to a worthless 
fortune-hunter. He had duped me with protesta- 
tions of love, which he had no right to speak to 
any woman but his wife, had grown weary of me 
even whilst he professed to play the lover, and had 
joyfully cast me off and made light of me, so soon 
as a change in his affairs enabled him to feel in- 
dependent of my fortune. I had given him all the 
wealth of love which my heart could spare from 
itself. He had given me nothing but a little ad- 
miration and the dregs of a love that had been 
wasted on too many objects to have any value or 
power left. 

I was profoundly and horribly humiliated. I 
could not endure to think of all the love I had 
lavished on such an object. I often writhed as I 
thought of the letters I had written him, which 
letters he had not even had the grace to return. 

I went about in those days, restless, angry, 
miserable. I would not allow even my mother to 
speak upon the subject that was never absent from 
my thoughts. I brooded alone in sullen silence, 
and nursed my wrongs until they assumed propor- 
tions of the most gigantic kind. I grew intensely 
morbid, and was a different being from the gay 


j DARK DAYS. 77 

Kate Lovel, who used to keep the old House alive 
by her gayety and spirit. 

I think I need hardly say that at this time I had 
no belief at all in the power of a Heavenly Com- 
forter and Friend. Religion I had none, beyond a 
formal observance of church-going, and a daily 
prayer spoken from the lips whilst the heart was 
far away. So far from any of the yearnings after 
the mysteries of God which sometimes haunt the 
young, and lead them on to light and truth, I held 
all such matters in a sort of contempt, none the 
less real because it was unspoken. 

People, I thought, must be very poor creatures 
who could not pass even a day without prayers for 
guidance, help, comfort, and what not, instead of 
trusting to their own decision and determination of 
character to bring about what they desired. 

The frame of mind which is ready to give up all 
in answer to a call from above seemed to me an 
absolute and hopeless folly. 

I had no real belief in God, nor in the power of 
prayer, nor in a hundred other matters that I ac- 
cepted as a matter of course, as I accepted the 
truths of science which I neither understood nor 
cared about. Actual infidelity, that openly pro- 
claimed itself as such, was not so much the fashion 
of that day as of this. I never spoke of my incre- 
dulity or contempt for religion ; but none the less 
did the feeling grow and increase within me. 


78 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


The shock my self-confidence had received, the 
sore need in which I stood of help and counsel, 
never softened or moved me. I should as soon 
have thought of going to my Bible for help, or of 
kneeling down and asking counsel from God, as of 
praying to the bronze statues in the hall. The 
thing, had it been suggested to me, would have 
appeared an idle mockery, and nothing would have 
convinced me that happiness and contentment were 
within my grasp, if I would but tear away the veil 
from my eyes and from my heart, see myself as I 
was, and go as a penitent sinner to the foot of the 
Cross. 

No ; I preferred to go my own way and think 
my own thoughts. Had counsel of such a kind 
been offered me, I should have spurned it. As it 
was, nobody ever spoke to me on such subjects ; I 
was left alone to commune with my own heart, 
with what profit I might. 

My mother, as I have said, was too gentle, too 
diffident, too simple-minded, to attempt to lead or 
guide me. I believe she never doubted that I was 
good and devout, so far as my youth and high 
spirits allowed me. The young, she no doubt 
fancied, require a good deal of liberty, and were by 
nature careless and thoughtless ; but I am certain 
she had no worse thoughts of me than these, and 
was content to wait till time should sober me down 
and give a graver tone to my nature. 


BARK BAYS . 


79 


As for me, I never dreamed of discussing religi- 
ous topics with my mother. I had no interest 
whatever in them, and had no wish to shock or pain 
her by a levity of speech which I knew would be 
the result of an interchange of ideas on these points. 
I had a sort of contempt for the little devotional 
books that often lay upon my mother’s table, and 
called them “ Popish ” or u sentimental,” and said 
to myself, with a certain self-complaisance, that if 
people had the Bible, I did not see what more they 
could need — regardless of the fact that I never 
opened the Bible that lay mutely reproachful upon 
my table week after week and month after month. 
I was in a frame of mind which took pleasure in 
finding out the mote in the eyes of others, whilst 
hopelessly blind to the beam in my own. I think 
I could not have been a lovable or a pleasant com- 
panion in those days. 

When the summer came upon us, I received a 
further shock to my outraged feelings. My cousin 
Geraldine wrote to say that of course she and her 
parents would be very pleased to see me if I cared 
to pay them a visit, but she was not sure that I 
should wish to do so, as it was only fair to tell me 
that Henry Scrope was now her affianced husband. 
His wife had died in the spring, and they had been 
engaged almost at once, and hoped very soon to be 
married. Henry was a rich man now, and rising 


80 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


in tlie profession, and the match was looked upon 
as a fairly brilliant one. 

With the spice of malice common to most girls 
of her type, she proceeded to inform me how 
Henry had never really eared for any one but her 
all along ; but knew once that he could never 
aspire so high, and had tried to content himself by 
the “ little cousin” whose pretty face and long 
purse had proved an attraction for a time. But he 
had soon wearied of the game. He did not care 
for little girls long, and really, what with my 
waywardness, my mother’s obstinacy, and the dul- 
ness of Lydgate, he was very nearly breaking the 
whole thing off when he was down with us. The 
bait offered by my fortune, however, had still kept 
him dangling on ; but he was unfeignedly glad 
when my “ heroics ” and his own increase of means 
enabled him to cast adrift again. 

“ You see, my dear cousin,” concluded Geraldine, 
“ you played your cards very badly, and let him 
see your hand. Men like uncertainty, and sus- 
pense, and excitement. They do not care for a 
woman who is always saying how she loves. Let 
them do the love-making, whilst we stand aloof 
and condescend to allow it ; but so soon as we once 
turn love-makers, as you did, so surely all our 
power is at an end.” 

This was not exactly a pleasant letter to receive, 
and I was furious. I felt that I hated my cousin as 


DARK DAYS. 


81 


bitterly as I hated my false lover; and the thought 
that those two talked and laughed together over 
my blighted hopes and childish exhibition of love 
drove me almost to distraction. 

My reply to Geraldine was anything but concilia- 
tory. I wrote my opinion of her and of Colonel 
Scrope far more plainly that I had any right- to do, 
and the consequence was an entire break in our 
correspondence. It was a longtime indeed before 
I saw or heard anything more of my cousin. 

Mrs. Baskerville was coming to see my mother. 
I was not much pleased to have to meet her ; but 
it could not now be avoided. I had no relatives or 
friends, save the Otways, whom I ever visited, and 
their door was now closed to me. 

I could not help wishing that Thomas Basker- 
ville was to be of the party. A painful craving 
after excitement had seized me — anything, any- 
thing to drown thought, and give food to my vanity 
and love of pleasure. And then a new thought 
seized me, and took powerful hold of my imagina- 
tion. 

Why should not I show Henry Scrope that I 
cared for him as little as he cared for me ? If he 
was going to marry my cousin Geraldine, why 
should not I marry my old admirer Thomas 
Baskerville ? 

This idea possessed me forcibly, and was very 
characteristic of my state of mind at the time. 


82 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


It was characteristic that I should have no 
doubt of the readiness of my old lover to renew the 
suit I had utterly rejected two years ago. He had 
never married all that time, so of course he must 
have remained single for my sake. 

It was characteristic that I should have no sense 
at all of the great wrong I was meditating towards 
the man I proposed vowing to love, honor, and 
obey. I was using him as a means of gratifyingan 
outraged vanity; and ran the risk of ruining his 
life, simply to show my faithless lover how little I 
cared for his desertion, and how quickly I consoled 
myself. 

It was characteristic that I should think of self, 
and only of self, all through this matter; deeming 
it an honor for Thomas Baskerville to call himself 
my husband under any circumstances whatever, 
and caring for nothing but the gratification of my 
own folly and pride. 

It was characteristic, too, that I utterly failed to 
see anything mean or wrong in the proposed course 
of action. Whatever Miss Lovel chose to do must 
of necessity be high-minded and right. 

After I had reached this conclusion, my spirits 
rose a little, and I braced myself with energy for 
the part I was about to play. 

I did not know exactly what course to take in 
order to bring Thomas Baskerville once more to 
my feet ; but I never doubted my power of ulti- 


DARK DAYS. 


83 


mately effecting this object. My mother might 
have helped me, if I had taken her into my confi- 
dence ; but this I did not choose to do. 

Mrs. Baskerville arrived in due course, and was 
very gentle and tender in her manner towards me. 
She had heard from my mother the outline of my 
troubles, told in language far different from what 
I have set down here, and her kind heart yearned 
over one who, whilst still so young, had suffered so 
keenly. She evidently regarded me as a different 
being from the laughing girl of two years back; 
and indeed I felt myself to be entirely changed. 
But whilst she took it for granted that sorrow had 
ennobled my nature, I might have known, if I 
had allowed myself to think, that, so far, it had but 
caused its deterioration. • 

The first time that I was alone with our guest 
was upon the evening of her arrival, when my 
mother, according to her custom, had retired early 
to her room and her bed. 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Baskerville then, very 
gravely, 46 1 am so shocked and grieved to see this 
change in your mother.” 

I opened my eyes wide in surprise. 

“ Change ! ” I echoed, “ what do you mean ? ” 
“ My dear, you cannot have failed to observe it. 
She has altered most sadly. Have you suggested 
that she should see some talented physician ? Or 


84 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


are you afraid of alarming her by the thought of 
such a thing ? ” 

I sat silent and aghast. I had been so entirely 
absorbed in my own affairs and feelings during the 
past year, that my mother’s gradual decay of power 
had passed absolutely unnoticed. It is not easy 
to observe a change in any one with whom one 
constantly lives ; but there had been in my case a 
carelessnesss and culpable selfishness that had 
blinded my eyes to everything but my own sorrows. 

“ I — I — did not know she was worse that usual,” 
I stammered. 

“ But surely you must have been growing very 
anxious of late ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Mother never says she is ill. 
It is so hard to judge of people with whom one 
lives ! ” 

Mrs. Baskerville evidently though I was trying 
to fight down a dreaded conviction, and her man- 
ner grew increasingly kind and motherly. 

“ I do not want to distress you, my love ; but 
sometimes it does more good to face a distant possi- 
bility, however sad, than to shut our eyes to it. 
Your mother may still have many years to live — I 
hope I may say so much — in spite of appearances. 
But you must not blind yourself to the ultimate 
future.” 

I was gazing with frightened eyes at our guest. 


DARK DAYS. 


85 


“Do you mean — that you think — that mother is 
going — to die ? ” I asked in a series of gasps. 

“ My dear Kate, you must try and be calm ; but 
I think you had better not fight with the truth any 
longer. It is time you looked the question in the 
face. Your dear mother looks dreadfully ill, and 
is in a state of weakness that must cause us great 
anxiety.” 

u Do you think she will die ? ” I whispered 
again. 

“ God alone knows the future, my love ; we 
must leave that in His hands ; but I fear she can- 
not be much longer for this world.” 

I waited for no more, but burst into a passion of 
tears. I knew that Mrs. Baskerville was trying to 
comfort me ; but I would not hear or heed, and 
only rushed wildly from the room with my face 
hidden in my hands. 

“ She will die ! She will die ! She will die ! ” 
I cried again and again in the fierceness of my 
grief and self-reproach, as I flung myself upon my 
bed in an agony of weeping. “ She will die — the 
only one who ever loved me ; and I shall be left 
quite alone — quite alone ! And yet people pretend 
that God is kind and good ! ” 

And with that wild climax of defiance and anger, 
I sobbed myself to sleep. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



A SECOND BETItOTHAJL. 

HE fierce, passionate grief of the young is 
not always long-lived. When I awoke 
next morning to the quiet routine of my 
daily life, and saw my mother occupying her cus- 
tomary couch, and tranquilly happy over her books 
and her needle work, I began to feel as if my out- 
burst of last night had been a wild dream, and I 
fancied that Mrs. Baskerville had frightened me 
for nothing. 

Yet, as I watched my mother with unusual at- 
tention, I did notice for the first time how very, 
very pale and thin and shadowy she had become ; 
how feeble were all her movements ; how incapable 
she was of exerting herself even over what seemed 
mere trifles to others : how one by one, and by 
imperceptible degrees, she had dropped all habits 
which involved the smallest exertion of strength, 



A SECOND BETROTHAL. 87 

and had become, although I had not readzed it, a 
confirmed invalid. 

I had grown so used to consider my mother as 
very fragile and delicate, that these gradual 
changes had given me no uneasiness; but when 
the idea was suggested to me, I could not deny that 
she was changed, and I was vaguely alarmed and 
distressed. 

I do not think I had ever seriously thought of 
losing my mother. She was so young-looking, in 
spite of her chronic ill-health, and lived so quiet 
and shielded a life, that it did not seem possible 
for death to come near her. I never could imagine 
what my home would be like without her gentle 
presence, nor what my life could be without the 
ceaseless love and watchful sympathy that seemed 
to form a sort of background to all that concerned 
me. I did not think much of my mother from 
day to day, and yet what a blank there would be 
if she were to be taken from me 

Some such thoughts as these forced themselves 
into notice many times during the following days, 
and I went about more thoughtful and dreamy than 
was my wont. I would not allow myself to believe 
that my mother’s life was in any danger ; but I 
nevertheless felt strangely tender over her, and felt 
as if I would do anything in the world to give her 
the smallest pleasure or satisfaction. 

How could I please my mother ? This question 


88 


TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


was often in my mind, and one day an answer 
seemed to shape itself within me which made my 
cheek flush and my eyes brighten. 

“ If your mother is really ill, and knows herself 
to be so,” said the voice from within, “nothing 
could give her more happiness and relief than your 
marriage with Mr. Thomas Baskerville.” 

This idea came with startling suddenness, and 
with a force that almost took my breath away. 
Yet it was not at all unwelcome, for, as I have be- 
fore explained, I was seriously contemplating an 
attempt to bring my old lover once more to my 
feet, and this new motive for such a deed had a 
grace and a flavor of filial devotion about it which 
it certainly could not be said to possess before. 

Motives are complex things, and the young are 
easily deceived, for they do not love close analysis. 
I cannot even now distinguish how much was 
wounded vanity, how much girlish folly and spite, 
and how much a wish to bring comfort and pleasure 
to my mother, that actuated me in the resolute deter- 
mination at which I arrived that I would, at all 
risks, marry Mr. Thomas Baskerville. 

I might have been at a loss how to commence 
the undertaking I had planned, had not my way 
been unexpectedly made plain. 

Mrs. Baskerville had been very kind to me, and 
had taken much more notice of me upon this visit 
than on any former occasion. Since her communi- 


A SECOND BETROTHAL. 


89 


cation upon the night of her arrival, as to the state 
of my mother’s health, she had not again alluded to 
the subject ; but I could tell that she thought about 
it and noticed my solicitude towards her, and the 
common bond of sympathy certainly drew us more 
closely together. 

Then, too, I had more to do in entertaining our 
guest than in bygone days. My mother never left 
the house, save for a turn along the terrace in her 
wheel-chair. She used in warm weather to lie out 
a good deal under the open arches ; but she never 
drove out now. 

So it came about that I drove Mrs. Baskerville 
in my pony carriage, and walked with her in the 
garden, and we grew far more intimate than we 
had done before. Something in this friend’s man- 
ner had a salutary effect upon me, and I seldom felt 
inclined to talk to her in the wild and flighty way 
I often adopted. I felt sobered down and made 
serious by her quiet seriousness, and I think she 
thought me much improved. 

I did not mean to be insincere, and I did not try 
to produce a false impression. I merely followed 
out the impulse of the hour, as was my way ; but 
there is no doubt that Mrs. Baskerville thought 
much more highly of me than she would have done 
had I shown myself as I really was. 

And one day, quite unexpectedly, came a climax 


90 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


that I had never dreamed of bringing about with 
so much ease. 

She had been talking to me again of my mother’s 
state of health one evening after the invalid had 
retired, and told me gently, and yet with a certain 
firmness, that she was very much afraid another 
winter would put the finishing stroke to the life 
that was so very frail. 

She had seen a good deal of this kind of gentle, 
insidious decline, having lost more than one relative 
much in the same way, and she could not think it 
real kindness to shield the truth from me. 

I did not cry this time, only I felt unutterably 
sad and lonely. 

“When my mother dies,” I said with a quiet 
melancholy, more effective perhaps than tears, 
“ there will be no one in the world to love or care 
for me.” 

Mrs. Baskerville rose and seated herself again at 
my side, taking my passive hand in hers. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ there is one who would 
gladly, gladly love and cherish you all your life 
long, one whose love for you has never wavered 
from the first moment when he saw you. If you 
stand in need of love and protection, and woqld 
give him the right to guard and care for you, I do 
not think you would ever regret the step you had 
taken.” 

I knew exactly what she meant, and my heart 


A SECOND BETROTHAL . 91 

beat fast, but I looked at her with startled eyes, as 
if I had not understood. 

“ Dear Kate,” said Mrs. Baskerville, pleadingly, 
“ my son has never ceased to love you.” 

“ Your son? 

“Yes, my son Thomas. You know that he 
asked you to be his wife ? ” 

“ Yes — but that was two years ago.” 

“Two years — twenty years — it is all the same 
to Thomas. He does not love easily nor readily; 
but then, when he does, it is forever. He has 
never forgotten you. Your image is ever in his 
heart. If he does not marry you he will remain 
single all his life.” 

This was pleasant food for my vanity; but I 
hung my head and made no reply. 

“Kate,” continued Mrs. Baskerville, “the past 
two years have changed you much. You were a 
child then, now you are a woman. You have 
known suffering, and have tasted the bitterness of 
the world’s heartlessness. Could you now, think 
you, learn to value a true heart at its worth? 
Could you now give my son a different answer, 
did he plead his cause again ? ” 

I did not look up ; I appeared covered with a 
maiden shame. In reality my eyes were dancing 
with amused satisfaction. Yet I had no idea that 
there was anything hypocritical in this. It seemed 
to me that I could not act otherwise. 


92 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


44 How can I tell ? ” I asked in a low voice. 

44 Could you tell if you were to see him ? ” asked 
Mrs. Baskerville. 

46 1 — I — don’t know — I suppose so. Oh! why 
are you asking all this ? ” 

44 Because, my dear, the happiness of my only 
son is at stake, and my mother’s heart is often very 
sore for him. Because I know him well enough to 
feel assured that he would, with God’s help, make 
you the very best and noblest of husbands.” 

44 Oh, Mrs. Baskerville!” I cried, and buried 
my face in my hands. 

44 He would help you, my dear child, to tread 
that narrow path which leads to everlasting life — 
for my son, in his own quiet way, is an earnest 
Christian.” 

I made no reply : I was not sure that this was a 
great recommendation for my absent lover; yeti 
was so far softened of late that I felt an occasional 
yearning for more light and hope than I had ever 
yet experienced. 

44 My dear,” questioned Mrs. Baskerville gently, 
44 will you allow Thomas to write to you, and plead 
his cause himself ? ” 

I caught at this suggestion. I thought I could 
more easily deal with a letter than with my lover 
in person, whose earnest, truthful eyes, brimful of 
honest love, might cause me to hesitate and falter 
in my vows of fidelity and affection. 


A SECOND BETROTHAL. 


93 


“He may write — if he likes,” I murmured indis- 
tinctly. “I will try to like him, Mrs. Baskerville 
— for your sake and for — for his own.” 

So I stood committed at last — practically, if not 
ostensibly — to an engagement with Mr. Thomas 
Baskerville ; and the thought of another courtship 
was by no means distasteful to me. 

When my lover’s letter came it was like himself, 
manly, earnest, truthful, and very full of a deep and 
unfeigned love. There was not the polish of style 
that Henry Scrope had acquired, none of the exag- 
gerated high-flown flattery that was then so much 
in vogue, and of which the gay soldier had been a 
master ; but there was a ring of intense honesty 
and true devotion in every sentence that could not 
but stir some answering chord, even in my cold 
and self-seeking nature, and I felt that if I did not 
actually love Thomas Baskerville, at least I trusted 
and respected him. 

I took the letter to my mother, and stood by her 
with downcast mien whilst she read it. Her pale 
face flushed with pleasure, and she looked up at 
me with eyes that shone with happiness. 

“ My darling child, is this so ? Did you give 
him permission to write to you, as he says ? Do 
you want my consent to your answer ? Ah, you 
little know what joy it would be to me to see you 
the wife of that good man ! ” 

I felt repaid by this for all qualms of con- 


94 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

science. Surely it must be right to do what so 
greatly pleased my sweet mother. 

“ I am going to write a promise to be his wife, if 
you approve,” I said in a low tone. “ May I ask 
him to come here to see us ? ” 

“ Do so, indeed, my love ; nothing could make 
me more truly happy.” 

So I wrote my letter with deliberate care, avoid- 
ing, with a keen sense of humiliating shame, those 
protestations and vows of changeless love of which 
I had once been so lavish, the very memory of 
which now made my cheek flame. It was a quiet, 
matter-of-fact letter, in which I told Mr. Thomas 
Baskerville that I would be his wife; but it was 
one that I felt would please him better than any- 
thing more impassioned. 

And he himself came as its answer. We were 
prepared for this, and for his sudden appearance 
one lovely June evening. 

I was in the garden, tending my roses, when I 
saw his tall figure striding towards me. We had 
agreed, his mother and I, that he might be ex- 
pected any time now ; but 1 think I felt a little 
startled and nervous as he approached. 

He saw me in a moment, and advanced with 
rapid strides, and then paused, a few paces distant, 
and held out both his hands, looking at me with 
an expression that I can never forget. 

“ Kate,” he said, in a voice that thrilled me as I 


A SECOND BETROTHAL. 95 

never expected to be thrilled by him ; “ Kate, can 
this be so?” 

I came up slowly and put my hands in his. 

“ Kate,” he said, u do you love me ? ” 

“ I am going to marry you,” I answered, look- 
ing up for a moment and then dropping my eyes. 
u Kate,” he repeated, “ do you love me ? ” 

A curious sense of trepidation ran through me, 
like nothing I had ever experienced before. I 
knew that this man loved me with an intensity of 
love beyond anything I had ever before received, 
and yet I felt that he had the strength of will to 
repudiate this great love, and trample it under 
foot, rather than wed a woman whose heart he had 
not won. That must not, should not be ! I was 
not going to offer myself again to one who would 
refuse the gift, however noble might be the motive. 
All this passed through my heart in a moment of 
time, and I steeled myself to play a part. I raised 
my eyes to his and answered softly : 

“ I love you, Thomas.” 

The next moment I was clasped to his breast, 
and my burning face was covered with his kisses. 
His was a nature too truthful to suspect. His 
great love drowned all other feelings in one of utter 
happiness. He did not pause to ask where and 
how I could have learned the love I professed to 
feel, seeing it was too years since we had met, and 
I had certainly not loved him then. No ; such 


96 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


doubts as these did not trouble him. I said I loved 
him, and that was enough. 

Some writers give us to understand that a false 
word or a deceitful action brings to the author 
thereof an immediate sense of shame and misery 
that destroys happiness from that time forward. 
But this cannot be true of all natures, for I was 
certainly more happy than I had been for many 
months, during the days and the weeks that fol- 
lowed my engagement to Mr. Baskerville. 

My mother was so beautifully tranquil and con- 
tent that 1 could not regret the step I had taken. 
My lover was so unostentatiously devoted, and his 
love was so true, that I could not but like him in- 
creasingly with each passing day. Our wills never 
came into collision. He was our guest. My word 
was law, and my power over him, as I believed, 
was boundless. 

Our marriage was arranged to take place early 
the following year, and Lydgate was to be our 
home during my mother’s lifetime. This was my 
express stipulation, and nobody gainsaid it. Some- 
times a sort of shadow would fall upon my mother’s 
face as we discussed the future, and she would say 
with a gentle sigh: 

“ Ah, those will be happy days for those who will 
live to see them ! ” 

I knew what she meant, and that she was anxious 
to prepare my mind for the truth ; but I resolutely 


A SECOND BETROTHAL . 


97 


declined to understand her hints. My own feelings 
underwent many fluctuations, and sometimes I per- 
suaded myself that she might live many years yet. 

Once I hinted as much to Tom, as I was learn- 
ing now to call him ; but he gravely shook his head. 

“ I fear not, Kate ; I fear she is slowly sinking. 
I sometimes wonder if she will live to see our 
wedding-day, next year.” 

Oh, Tom, it cannot be so near as that. It 
would be too awful ! too dreadful ! ” 

He looked sympathetic and yet grave as he 
answered : 

“ It hardly seems to me that such words as 
“awful” and “dreadful” are applicable to the 
death of a good woman.” 

I shuddered apprehensively. “ Death is the most 
awful thing in the whole world — you know it is.” 

“ No, indeed, I do not.” 

I stared at him in half-indignant surprise. 

“ What is then ? ” 

“ Sin,” he answered quietly ; “ it is sin that gives 
the sting to death, and victory to the grave ; but 
we know Who has taken both away.” 

I did not know, and could not refrain from 
asking : 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

I saw that the question surprised him ; but his 
answer was gentle enough. 

“ Christ conquered sin, once for all, when He died 


98 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

for our sakes. We have not to fight the battle m 
our own strength now. That is done for us. Now 
honest repentance and simple faith are enough,” 
and half unconsciously he quoted under his breath 
words which struck unfamiliarly upon my ear : 

“ Who captive led captivity, 

Who robbed the grave of victory, 

And took the sting from death.” 

“ I cannot think how people can be so callous 
and unkind ! ” I cried with a sort of sob, for there 
was something in Thomas Baskerville’s words and 
looks which roused within me an aching conscious- 
ness of a great void that I had never tried to fill. 
“ They do nothing but tell me that my mother is 
going to die ; and I can’t bear to think of it ! ” 

And I fled from my lover, and shut myself up in 
my room, to wonder why that grisly phantom death 
had no terrors for anyone but me. 

But the problem was beyond my powers of solu- 
tion, and I left it unresolved. 



CHAPTER IX. 

KING OK QUEEN? 



Y mother died in the January of the year 
1820, and my marriage was postponed for 
three months, and took place on the first 
of May. It was a very quiet ceremony, very unlike 
the grand spectacle I had often amused myself by 
planning ; but change and death had subdued my 
spirits for a time, and I was content to follow the 
counsels of those about me, and submit to whatever 
arrange meats they should propose. 

My mother’s lingering illness, followed by her 
death, had made a deep, though, as it proved, not 
a lasting impression on me, and I made many 
resolves to be more thoughtful and “ religious ” in 


the future. 

My resolutions* however, sincere as they were 
when I formed them, were made entirely in my own 



100 


TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


strength. I did not ask help or counsel of God, 
because as yet He was but a name to me. I still 
felt quite strong enough to work out my own life 
according to my own ideas, and I mistook the feel- 
ings of gentleness and devotion which haunted me 
as I watched beside m} r mother’s sick bed for a 
real and lasting change in my character. As I read 
the Bible promises, and repeated the prayers that 
my mother loved to hear, I felt good , if you can 
understand what I mean ; so good that I was quite 
convinced of some great change in myself. I felt 
like a gentle sister of mercy, as I moved about the 
sick room, ministering to my mother’s wants, and 
her tender words of loving thanks, and her anxiety 
lest my ceaseless devotion should wear me out, in- 
creased the melancholy self-satisfaction in which I 
was unconsciously indulging. 

My old idol, self, still held its place in my 
heart, and occupied all my thoughts. I think, 
when my mother actually lay dead before me, I 
lost all sense of self for a brief period of intense 
grief ; but I had not learned the lesson of humility 
yet. The idol was shaken for a moment, but 
alas ! it did not fall. 

I declined to leave Lydgate, although the Bask- 
ervilles were eager and anxious for me to spend 
with them the months that elapsed between my 
mother’s death and my own marriage ; but I was 
resolute, and so my future mother-in-law spent a 


KING OR QUEEN ? 


101 


good deal of time with me, and Thomas paid us 
visits from time to time. 

I do not think I liked the Baskervilles any the 
more for seeing so much of them. I grew very 
tired of the mother, and was inclined to resent the 
tone she adopted toward me, which was one of 
parental fondness, not unmixed with the sugges- 
tion of authority. As for the son, I could not but like 
and respect him ; but I was not at ease vdth him, 
for I felt that his nature was far deeper than mine, 
and that he rated me much more highly than I de- 
served. I knew that his eyes must some day be 
opened, and that then I should appear like a hypo- 
crite and deceiver. 

Nevertheless we were duly married, for I had 
no energy or spirit now to fight against fate, and I 
had no wish to remain in solitary state at Lydgate. 
I married without any real love, and gave not one 
thought to the injury I was inflicting on my hus- 
band in so doing. I only thought of myself, and 
considered that I was bestowing an incalculable 
boon upon him in giving myself to him at all. 

I was married in my riding habit, and we rode 
away from the church doors without any further 
ceremony. As long as I could not be surrounded 
with the regal pomp I had once planned, nothing 
could be too simple, and weddings in those days 
were, for the most part, quiet affairs enough. 

We spent the next few weeks in what seemed 


102 THE MISTBESS OF LYDGATE . 

to me, after my long seclusion, a very gay fashion. 
We rode to Winchester, by easy stages, and after 
that we posted up to London. My husband knew 
that I had never before seen the great capital of 
the country, and he had taken a house there for 
six weeks, in order that I might indulge my 
natural taste for gayety, and that my ideas might 
be turned into a new channel. 

I had certainly preyed upon myself too much of 
late, and some such step as this was almost neces- 
sary for the better establishment of my health. I 
was touched with this token of my husband’s 
thoughtfulness, and I began to think that my 
marriage would be quite as happy as one need 
expect. 

I had liked the riding and driving through new 
country, and, in spite of my mourning garb, I 
was quite prepared to begin enjoying myself once 
more. 

London sights and sounds enchanted me, and 
we spent many days in visiting those places which I 
most wished to see. My husband knew London 
well, and was able to obtain admission to many 
places not usually shown to sightseers, and I was 
as pleased and delighted as a child. 

At this time all London was aflame with ex- 
citement over the wrongs and the cruel treatment 
received by Queen Caroline at the hands of her 
husband. 


KING OR QUEEN ? 


103 


The title of queen had been denied her. The 
greatest excitement prevailed, and society was split 
up into two sections — the king’s party and the 
queen’s party — and tumults in the streets occurred 
almost daily. 

Families have been divided and enmities stirred 
up by smaller causes than this ; and thus it was 
that the first quarrel arose between my husband 
and me. 

Those who have studied the history of that time 
know that it was the people who took up the 
queen’s quarrel with such vehemence, stirred up 
by political leaders, who hoped by means of this 
lever to unseat the existing ministry, and to bring 
to a climax the unpopularity of the new king. 

The higher classes sided with the sovereign, and 
looked coldly upon the queen, whose reputation 
was said to be sadly tarnished. That she was a 
sorely injured woman, few cool-headed persons 
could deny ; but the loyalty of the upper classes 
made them stand by their king, even when he 
showed himself, as in this case, harsh and unjust. 

Unfortunately for me, however, we did not go 
into society, having very few friends in town. I 
had no chance of observing the attitude taken up 
by the majority of people in our own rank in life, 
and only heard the inflated accounts brought by 
my maid, or read the wild and exaggerated lan- 
guage of the papers she procured for 


104 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


My natural tendency was towards- what would 
be called in these days ‘ woman’s rights,’ and I had 
a great idea of the homage due to woman. I 
secretly hoped that the king would be deposed, 
and the injured queen raised to the throne, and 
no idea was too wild to find an echo in my 
heart. 

My husband, for a time, knew very little of this 
state of ferment into which I was being driven. 
He had a good deal of business to transact, in 
reference to some sale of property which he was 
effecting, and a sort of instinct held me silent in 
his presence, for I felt certain that he would not 
approve the red-hot heat into which I was working 
myself. 

A climax came, however, on the sixth of June, 
when the injured queen, having landed at Dover, 
despite all the king’s commands, entered London, 
accompanied by Alderman Wood and Lady Ann 
Hamilton. Lord Eldon had said, when he heard 
of her intention, “ Our queen threatens to come to 
England ; if she ventures to do so, she is the most 
courageous woman I have ever heard of. The evil 
she may do in coming will be infinite. At first 
she will have an immense popularity with the mul- 
titude, but I give her only a few weeks, or at most 
a few months, to be ruined in the opinion of the 
whole world.” 

I had read those words in the paper my husband 


KING OB QUEEN f 


105 


took in, and I had laughed within myself at the 
sagacious old man who had dared to utter them. 
At twenty, the sound foresight of an old statesman 
has very little weight compared with the wild, ex- 
travagant clamor of the masses. 

My maid was a London woman thirty years of 
age, and she, in common with the majority of her 
class, was intensely excited by the thought of the 
coming struggle. It was at her suggestion, but in 
accordance with my own earnest wish, that we re- 
solved to join the procession that was to welcome 
the injured queen to the capital. 

I shall never forget that day, nor the aw’ful 
sights and sounds which haunted me for days and 
nights afterwards. 

It must be remembered that I was a simple 
country girl, brought up in a sort of “ aristocratic 
seclusion ” hardly possible in these days, and my 
only idea of a crowd was formed from a gathering 
of tenantry and quiet country folk at some of the 
houses of the large landowners near to our home. 

My maid, with more zeal than discretion, took 
me into the very heart of the crowd. We had de- 
cided that we should see more on foot than in any 
kind of conveyance, and before I fairly knew where 
we were going, or what we were going to do, I 
found myself hemmed in the midst of a shouting, 
raving mob of people, who looked to me more like 
savages than human beings ; and, as the crowd grew 


106 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


denser, we were pressed closer and more close 
together till it seemed as if we must be suffo- 
cated. 

I grew half wild with terror. I could not move, 
save with the imperceptible motion of the crowd ; 
I could hardly breathe ; I was sick with the stench 
which exhaled from the vast multitude of unwashed 
people around me. I felt the pressure increasing 
gradually, and 1 knew not what awful thing might 
happen next. What did it matter to me that we 
were following the carriage of the queen ? I could 
not see it, nor should I have cared to do so if I 
could. Wild, personal terror had me in its clutch. 
I felt I would give all I possessed to be able to 
escape from that awful crowd, which was crushing 
the very life out of me. 

“ Martha ! ” I cried with the fierce energy of de- 
spair, “ if you don’t get me out of this I shall die ! ” 

“ We can’t help ourselves now,” answered the 
maid, who was rather alarmed herself at my looks. 
“ When the street widens out, as it does farther on, 
maybe we’ll be able to do something.” 

“ But we’re not moving at all ! ” I cried frantic- 
ally. “ I shall die — I shall faint — if you don’t take 
me away ! ” 

I suppose I looked as iij I should, for the woman 
w T as frightened. 

“ Don’t faint, ma’am. If you do, you’ll be trod- 
den under foot and crushed to death. I'll get you 


KING OH QUEEN ? 107 

out as soon as I can — indeed I will. We are mov- 
ing slowly. There will be more space soon.” 

I do not know how long that awful crush con- 
tinued, but the pressure did relax somewhat at 
last. It seemed as if we reached a more open 
space, for the crowd divided hither and thither, 
and others beside ourselves seemed anxious to es- 
cape. There was a pushing, shouting, scrambling, 
and hurrying like nothing I had ever experienced 
before, and then a sort of wave seemed to rush at 
me, carrying me almost off my feet ; and when I 
recovered my breath and my senses, I was alone 
amid a sea of strange faces, and Martha nowhere 
in sight. 

Common sense told me it was useless to hunt for 
her ; but I did not know where I was, and I was 
terrified, beyond all power of expression, lest I 
should be engulfed again in that awful crowd from 
the pressure of which I had now escaped. My 
dress was torn, my cloak had gone, my bonnet was 
crushed, and my purse and all I had in my pocket 
had vanished. 

Rough men and ragged women looked curiously 
at me, as I hastened on, trembling and panting, in 
what direction I did not know ; and I cannot tell 
what would have become of me if I had not found 
an unoccupied coach, and made the driver under- 
stand where I lived. 

We had left the house early in the day, and it 


108 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


was evening before I returned. I had tasted no 
food all those hours, and I was exhausted almost 
beyond power of speech. 

Martha had reached home before me, and both 
she and my husband came rushing out and assisted 
me into the house. Faint and exhausted as I was, 
I could still note how dark and severe were the 
lines of his face, how stern was the voice in which 
he ordered the frightened maid to put her mistress 
to bed, and give her soup without a moment’s loss 
of time. 

I knew full well that I had done wrong, and for 
a short time I was deeply penitent ; but it is won- 
derful what a restoring power food and rest will 
produce. By the time that I had partaken of re- 
freshment, and had slept off the first effects of my 
exhaustion, I felt quite prepared to stand up for 
the course I had taken, and defend it to my hus- 
band, if I could not do so to myself. 

“ Your husband is so angry,” said the trembling 
Martha, “I never saw him so angry before. He 
says he shall never trust me again, and that I must 
go.” 

“ You shall not go, Martha,” I answered firmly; 
“I will not allow anyone to dismiss my servants 
but myself.” 

I stopped suddenly short as I spoke these words, 
for my husband had just entered the room. Martha 
beat a hasty retreat, and Thomas said to me : 


KING OR QUEEN? 


109 


“ If we are to differ in opinion, Kate, it would 
be more dignified if you refrained from discussing 
such points with the servants.” 

I knew I had done wrong, but I was not in the 
mood to confess it. I merely shrugged my shoul- 
ders and stifled a yawn. 

I will not give in detail the conversation that 
followed. My husband was throughout very kind 
and very just in all he said, and only really re- 
proached me with concealing from him my warm 
zeal in the queen’s cause, and my intention to join 
the procession which had followed her that day. 

He explained the whole case to me, with a clear- 
ness and impartiality utterly unlike anything I had 
heard before ; not for a moment denying that the 
queen was a deeply injured woman, yet clearly 
pointing out that this stirring up of the popular 
fury was not really done on behalf of the unhappy 
princess, but merely in hopes of gaining a party 
end. 

“ You see, Kate, we are so clearly told that our 
duty is to honor the king, and submit ourselves to 
the powers that be, that we cannot rashly and 
lightly disobey such a mandate. The dignity of 
silence and submission would better have become 
our unfortunate queen than the course she has 
been advised to take ; and I fear that she will find 
out, ere long, that the warm reception she has re- 
ceived has no deeper root than a popular love of 


110 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


excitement, and the fascination of a grievance and 
cause for discontent, and that it will subside as 
rapidly as it has risen. I fear that neither king 
nor queen have lived as their subjects could have 
wis hid; but we cannot deny them such loyalty as 
is their due, and to our hereditary sovereign our 
first duty must be given.” 

I listened in sullen silence. 

“ Of course, men always side with men against 
women,” was all my answer ; and then, lashing 
myself up into sudden anger, I drew my husband 
into something as like a quarrel as was possible, 
where there were injustice and fury on one side, 
and gentle forbearance, combined with inflexible 
firmness, on the other. 

He left me at last, when he considered he had 
heard enough, and I lay fretting and fuming and 
working myself up into a white heat of passion, 
which I tried hard to keep glowing ; for I knew 
that if I let it cool, I should be obliged to see that 
I had been in the wrong. 

In an hour’s time my husband returned. 

“My dear,” he said quietly, “you said just now 
that you hated London, and wished you had never 
come. Would you like to leave it as soon as I can 
arrange it, and go home ? ” 

“ Yes,” I answered shortly, “ to Lydgate.” 

“ No,” was the quiet rejoinder, “ to the Mount. 


KING OR QUEEN f 


Ill 


That is your home now. I will make the nec- 
essary arrangements at once.” 

“ He means to be king, and rule,” said I bitterly, 
when 1 found myself alone ; “ but if he thinks I 
will play the part of the injured queen, he is very 
much mistaken ! ” 

The week following found us settled at my hus- 
band’s house in Berkshire — a fine place called the 
Mount, which I had heard of often, but had never 
seen. It was utterly unlike Lydgate. It had none 
of the mediaeval beauty and hoary antiquity of my 
dear old home. It was, from the outside, an ugly 
pile of buildings, square, and fiat, and tasteless, 
like most of the large houses built in the times of 
the Georges. I was loud in my condemnation of 
its hideous appearance, but I could not deny that 
within it was exceedingly spacious and commodious. 

I was not happy in my new home. I had begun 
my married life in a wrong spirit ; and, as we all 
know, a thing badly begun is not quickly or easily 
mended. 

Mrs. Baskerville had retired to the “ Dower 
House ” on her son’s marriage ; but it was only 
half a mile away, and she was a constant visitor at 
the Mount. She was very kind and tried to be my 
friend; but I was not inclined to meet her ad- 
vances. I resented her advice, of which I often 
stood in need, and believed, as many other foolish 
young wives do believe, that all my faults and 


112 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


failings and shortcomings were discussed between 
my husband and his mother. 

We went a good deal into society at this time, 
and there was plenty of gayety all round us. 

I threw myself heart and soul into every amuse- 
ment that came in my way, and developed a levity 
of speech and action that I had never indulged 
even in my wildest days of girlish freedom. 

I knew quite well that my husband was pained 
and disappointed in me. His love never wavered 
once ; but I knew that his judgment was not 
blinded, and I resented the faintest suspicion of 
reproach. 

The miserable quarrel between king and queen, 
and the revolting inquiry that was instituted into 
her past life, kept up the fire of my wrath, and 
served me for a pretext for my coldness towards 
my husband; but in reality, once removed from 
the excitement of town life, my ardor rapidly cooled, 
and I began to take the view of the proceeding 
adopted by the majority of the people of my own 
class. 

Save for the pleasure of taunting my husband 
with his love of tyranny and injustice towards a 
helpless woman, I cared little more about the cause 
of the hapless queen. I was triumphant for a mo- 
ment at the result of the trial; indignant and 
wrathful when the story of the coronation was 
told ; and I shed a few tears at the news of her 


KING OB QUEEN f 


113 


death, only a fortnight later. But my heart was 
no longer really concerned in the matter ; and that 
luckless episode merely served to widen the breach 
that I had resolutely placed between my husband 
and myself. 

There was no real or visible estrangement be- 
tween us, you must understand. We lived as 
quietly, and apparently as happily, as the majority 
of married people. Often I was quite gay and 
bright for weeks together, and made many good 
resolutions for the better regulation of my conduct. 
I was fond of my husband, too, although I still denied 
him the love I should have freely given — the love 
lie so richly deserved. Many times in those days 
I was on the verge of making him my truest friend, 
and asking his help along the path which he was 
treading, and which I had missed. But somehow 
my courage or my resolution always failed, and I 
went on in my old way. I think I was dimly con- 
scious that if I took up in earnest a religious life, 
I must also give up a good deal that I liked to do 
and to think. 

I knew that my giddy pursuit of pleasure, to the 
exclusion of all else, was not in accordance with a 
truly Christian life. I knew that my pride, my 
self-will, my hasty temper, and my neglect of home 
duties were all in direct defiance of the simple but 
definite rules laid down for those who wished to 
follow the footsteps of their crucified Saviour. I 


114 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


knew that the example He had left for us to copy 
was one which I was not at all prepared to imi- 
tate. 

So I put off, till a more convenient season, all 
such serious thoughts, and tried to lose myself in 
the enjoyments of the present. 

I cannot say that this attempt was very success- 
ful. There were moments when the shallowness 
of my pleasures and the hollowness of my life 
struck me very painfully, but I was resolved to 
drown conscience and to continue in my own way. 

I prided myself on never doing things by halves. 
I liked to be thorough in whatever I took up ; and, 
as I was not prepared to take up the life of a sin- 
cere Christian with any thoroughness, I thought it 
was better to let the matter quite alone. 

The birth of my eldest son, Thomas, was not to 
me the turning-point it is to many mothers. I did 
not like babies, and I felt no special interest in 
mine. I was fond of him when he was good, but I 
could not endure him when he was fretful or cross ; 
and I saw as little of him as I could do, with any 
sort of regard for appearances. 

My husband, however, was devoted to the child, 
and I grew almost tired of hearing his praises 
sung. I was half jealous of the boy who had won 
such a depth of love ; and although my husband 
was increasingly tender and loving towards me, I 


KING OE QUEEN? 115 

could not rid myself of the idea that our first-born 
son had come between 11s. 

So days and weeks and months passed on, bring- 
ing me no nearer to God, nor even to the husband 
and son whom He had given me. 

I was living to this world, and this world only, 
and yet I wondered, with a fretful, irritated sense 
of injury, why it was that I was not happy. 




CHAPTER X. 


MY SECOND SON. 



AM now going to make a break in my story, 
and take it up a good deal later, when iny 
eldest son, Tom, was twelve years old. 

I had five children at that time — Lovel, who was 
little more than a year younger than his eldest 
brother ; Harold, who was nine ; Ursula, eight ; and 
Arthur, nearly six. 

Other changes besides the birth of children had 
passed over our household. Mrs. Baskerville had 
died shortly after the birth of my only girl, and 
my husband had deeply mourned her loss. I had 
grown to look to her for help in the management of 
my young children, and I missed her more than I 
should have thought possible. 

I had also lost my only relatives, General and 
Mrs. Otway, and of Geraldine I had seen nothing 
since her marriage. 


MY SECOND SON. 


117 


I do not think my character had changed very 
materially during the past years. I was still very 
proud and self-willed, and by no means a tender or 
a loving wife. I had a strong respect and affection 
for my husband, and I leaned upon him more than I 
knew ; but he did not satisfy my imagination. I 
was inclined to look down upon him with a sense 
— and what a mistaken sense ! — of being a good 
deal his superior ; and I was sometimes guilty of 
that most grave of all offences, of allowing my 
children to see that I was not always at one with 
him in matters of discipline and management. 

I was guilty, too, of other great indiscretions in 
the management of my children. I allowed myself 
to have a favorite, and to show that he was my 
favorite. 

I do not think it was merely the blind pride of 
motherhood that made me regard my second son, 
Lovel, as so peculiarly handsome and winning a boy. 
I do not think I was naturally specially fond of my 
own children — certainly not during the earlier 
years of my married life ; but I did love that second 
boy far, f$,r more than any of his brothers. 

For one thing he was born at Lydgate, and then, 
from his infancy upwards, he was “ every inch a 
Lovel.” 

Thomas, the eldest son, was a true Baskerville, 
and in face as well as disposition the resemblance 
to his father was so close,as to be almost grotesque. 


118 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


He was a very steady and good boy, but inclined 
to be heavy and dull ; and I felt a perpetual sense 
of irritation at his little awkwardnesses, and his si- 
lent, bashful ways. I believe it was his great love 
and admiration for me that caused him to be 
peculiarly clumsy in my presence, for he did love 
me almost to adoration, and was quite aware that 
I regarded his blunders with scant patience ; but 
all this I did not learn till long afterwards. I 
thought the boy’s love was all lavished on his 
father, and was jealous of the deep sympathy .and 
affection existing between father and son. 

But Lovel was in every sense of the word my 
own boy. He was tall, graceful, high-spirited, and 
in every way delightful. He knew as well as pos- 
sible that I was as wax in his hands, and that I 
could deny him nothing. He knew that the beau- 
tiful old Lydgate, which we both so dearly loved, 
was willed to descend to him some day ; and, when- 
ever he stayed there, he played the lord and master 
in a way that delighted me, but which gave my hus- 
band some annoyance. 

44 My dear,” he said one day — when he spoke to 
me in this fashion it was always with great gentle- 
ness — 44 do you think you are wise in encouraging 
that boy to speak and think in such a strain ? Do 
you not think it best that, as children, they should 
think as little as possible about the wealth, and 
importance that may be theirs later? Thomas if 


MY SECOND SON . 


119 


be lives, will inherit my landed property ; but I 
should be very sorry to hear him boast about it, and 
plan what he would do in such a case, as Lovel 
does with reference to Lydgate.” 

I laughed rather satirically. 

“ You might as well compare a young thorough- 
bred and a cow, as Thomas and Lovel. When a 
boy is brimful of ambition and life and imagination, 
how can you expect him to plod on as steadily and 
stolidly as one whose thoughts never rise above 
the level of a pioughboy’s? ” 

My husband looked grave. 

“You are never quite just to Tom,” he said. 
“ If you did not quench him so by your sarcasm, 
but encouraged him to talk, you would not find 
him so much behind your brilliant Lovel as you 
think ; but let that pass. What I would say is, that 
it is just because Lovel has such ambition and im- 
agination, that I do not think you should try to give 
food to these somewhat dangerous qualities. So 
long as boyhood lasts I should be inclined to pour 
cold water upon the flame rather than give it 
fuel.” 

But I would not be advised. 

“ You can do what you please with Tom,” I an- 
swered. “ I never interfere about him ; but I mean 
to manage Lovel my own way. We will see which 
turns out the greater man.” 

My husband sighed ; but he knew by experience 


120 


TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


that argument produced little effect upon me. I 
could generally score a seeming victory with my 
tongue, even when I felt defeated in reality. 

I was very blind in those days and very foolish ; 
but the time of awakening was not far off. 

All these years I had remained perfectly careless 
and indifferent to real and personal religion. I con- 
formed outwardly with great zeal to all the ordi- 
nances of the Church, and brought up my children 
to do the same. I read a chapter of the Bible to 
them each Sunday, and gave them the Pilgrim's 
Progress and such other religious books then pub- 
lished as were suited to their capacity. And, 
having done this, I considered that I had done all 
that was necessary for them or myself, and I con- 
fess that I felt really uncomfortable when my little 
Ursula used to look up at me with trusting brown 
eyes, and ask me strange and searching questions 
that had never troubled me seriously all through 
my life. 

Thomas gave all his confidence to his father, and 
Lovel never seemed to think of anything beyond 
the present life ; but little Ursula was one of those 
grave, earnest children, who seem from infancy 
upwards inclined to soar into the regions of specu- 
lative thought, and who request explanations of 
all sorts of mysteries beyond the power of man to 
disclose. 

I was continually forced to silence the child by 


MY SECOND SON . 


121 


telling her that she was too young to understand 
such things, that nobody could understand them, 
and that she had better play with her doll, and not 
trouble about what was so far beyond her ; and yet 
I often felt that this was not really the way in 
which to meet the child’s inquiries, and that I 
ought to be able to give answers to many of the 
questions that troubled her. 

Ursula often brought her Bible to me, begging 
to have certain passages explained. She was very 
fond of her Bible, and studied it so closely that I 
often felt half annoyed by her absorption. I quite 
dreaded to see her come to me with the open book 
in her hand, and her dark eyes full of earnest ques- 
tioning thought. 

The prophets and the Revelation seemed her 
favorite reading, and the difficult passages brought 
to me for elucidation were often quite beyond my 
powers. I had never studied the Word of God 
myself, and I was more ignorant than many a school 
child of the present day of the real meaning of the 
sacred words. I was quite aware that my explana- 
tions were trivial and unsatisfactory in the extreme, 
and I was in daily fear that my little daughter 
would soon find this out. As it was I could see 
that she often went away dissatisfied ; but so far 
she believed it was her want of comprehension, not 
my want of knowledge, that made the difficulty. 


122 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


I could not, however, help wondering sometimes 
how long this stage of confusion would last. 

As I have said, my soul had been sleeping for 
very long — almost all my life, indeed — but the day 
of awakening was at hand. 

We always spent three or four of the summer 
months at Lydgate. My children delighted in the 
quaint old house and the liberty they always en- 
joyed whilst there ; and Lovel’s birthday, which 
was on June 1, was always kept as a very grand 
festival — far more so than that of poor Tom, which 
occurred in April, and was always passed at the 
Mount. 

Lovel, in the year in which I write, was nearly 
eleven, and his birthday was to be kept in the 
usual style. He had set his mind, for many months, 
on a certain gray colt which had been growing up 
at Lydgate, and I had promised him that it should 
be his when it was old enough to be broken. 

It was now three years old, and a little to spare, 
and had been partially broken, and was improving 
every day. It was a pretty creature, standing over 
fourteen hands already, and was safe to grow an 
inch or more. It was very well bred and full of 
mettle. Lovel was filled with delighted pride, and 
eager to be allowed to mount his new pos- 
session. 

He had all the courage and reckless spirit that I 
still possessed, and knew not the meaning of fear. 


MY SECOND SON 


123 


The young horse passed into his own possession 
upon his birthday ; but it was not yet sufficiently 
broken to be considered safe. One day I mounted 
and rode him, for I was still a fearless horsewoman, 
and I allowed Lovel to do the same after me ; but 
the horse recognized at once the inexperienced 
hand, and, although Lovel stuck to him manfully 
and did not give in, I could see that the boy was 
hardly a match for him yet. 

My husband happened to come by at that mo- 
ment, and peremptorily ordered Lovel to dismount. 
The boy obeyed with reluctance ; and I felt a little 
annoyed at the tone employed to him, considering 
that I was standing by, and giving my counte- 
nance to what was done. 

“ That horse is not fit for you to ride,” said the 
lad’s father. “ He is not broken yet.” 

“ Oh, yes, he is ! ” I answered quickly. “ I have 
tried him myself. He only wants riding a little 
more to be quite quiet.” 

My husband never contradicted me before the 
children, whatever I might say. 

“ Then one of the grooms shall ride it,” he an- 
swered quietly. “ There is no reason why any risk 
should be run for the sake of a little want of patience. 
Now, Lovel,” he added, turning to the boy and 
speaking gravely and kindly, “you are not to 
mount your horse again till I give you leave. I 
will see that its education is completed as quickly 


124 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


as possible ; but, until you have my permission, I 
forbid you to ride it any more.” 

Lovel made no reply. He was never sullen, but 
he was very determined, and it was a great effort 
to give up his own way. His father did not, how- 
ever, press for an answer, but turned away, con- 
sidering the matter at an end. 

44 What a shame ! ” ejaculated Lovel under his 
breath, as soon as his father was safely out of ear- 
shot. 44 What a shame ! ” 

I did not reprove the boy for his undutiful words. 
I felt a good deal annoyed myself. 

44 Never mind, Lovel,” I said consolingly ; 44 the 
horse will soon be broken. In a very few days it 
will be quite safe for you to ride him.” 

44 It’s safe enough now,” answered the lad ; only 
father is so ” 

44 We will go and speak to the groom ourselves, 
and tell him to give him lots of exercise and not too 
much corn. That will quiet him down better than 
anything.” 

We did this ; but Lovel still continued to speak 
of his father angrily and disrespectfully, and I did 
not check him, save in a very half-hearted way. 

A fortnight passed, and still the permission was 
withheld. Lovel waxed furious, and I felt much 
annoyed. I allowed myself to think that this veto 
was laid upon the riding because Tom was but a 
sorry horseman, and had not the least ambition 


MY SECOND SON. 


1 25 


to have a pony to ride. I said to myself that my 
husband was annoyed at Lovel’s superior skill and 
daring, and I was as much vexed as the boy by this 
long period of enforced waiting. 

I considered myself a better judge of horses than 
my husband, and I was much annoyed at his deter- 
mined assertion that the young horse would not 
break, and was quite unfit for a boy to ride. It 
seemed to me that he was trying to rob Lovel of 
any practical good from the pleasure he ought and 
expected to have from my birthday present. 

“ Mother ! mother ! ” cried Lovel, bursting into 
my room one morning, as I was giving Ursula a 
lesson in music. “ Oh, darling mother, do say I 
may ride my horse to-day ! Father has taken Tom 
to the town, so I can’t ask him, and George 
Trefusis has come over on his pony to beg me to 
ride with him, to see some puppies a farmer has 
got. He says if I’ll come with him he’ll give me 
a pup. Oh, do pleo.se let me go! Indeed the 
horse is quite safe. I’ve watched the groom ride 
him ever so many times, and he never does any- 
thing naughty. I do so want to go. Please say I 
may ! ’ 

This, and a great deal more to the same effect, 
accompanied by caresses and endearing words, and 
every art of persuasion, of which Lovel was an 
adept, won the day. I did not myself believe that 
the horse was unsafe. I was confident that Lovel’s 


126 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


courage and skill were sufficient to master a high 
spirit ; and I was not displeased at the thought of 
proving to my husband that I had been right, and 
he wrong, in judgment of the creature. 

“Very well, Lovel,” I answered at last, “ I will 
give you leave to go.” 

I went down to watch the start. The pretty 
young thing looked gentle enough, though evident- 
ly full of life and spirit. I questioned the groom, 
who considered him “right enough; only fresh 
when his head was turned homewards. He wanted 
holding well in hand then.” 

I cautioned Lovel, and watched him ride away 
without one misgiving. Then I went back to the 
music lesson. 

But Ursula had grown weary of my absence ; 
she had left the instrument and had gone back to 
her Bible. 

“ Mother,” she said, as I sat down in my ac- 
customed chair, “ in the Bible it always talks as 
if our fathers and mothers were the same. It says, 
4 Children, obey your parents,’ and it says, 
6 Honor your father and your mother.’ Don’t you 
think it would be much easier if it said, 4 Honor 
your father or your mother,’ and 4 Children obey 
one of your parents ? ’ Then it would be all easy ; 
but I don’t see how we can obey both parents, 
when they say different things.” And she looked 


MY SECOND SON. 


127 


up at me with her dark eyes full of questioning 
thought. 

“ You must come and finish your lesson now,” I 
answered hastily. “ I do wish, Ursula you would 
be a little more like other children.” 

The child looked rebuked and humbled, and 
tried to make up for her defects by unusual dili- 
gence ; but I could not get her simple words out of 
my mind, nor rid myself of the impression they 
had made upon me. 

“ Children, obey one of your parents. 

Was that the order of our household? 




CHAPTER XI. 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 



DO not know how long a time had passed ; 
but I imagine it was some two hours later 
that Harold came bursting into my room, 
his face aflame with excitement. 

“ Mother ! Mother ! " he cried, “ isn't it funny ? 
There is Lovel’s gray horse galloping about in the 
field all alone, with his saddle and bridle on. I saw 
him come tearing down the road through the 
park, and I was frightened that he'd run over me , 
but he just jumped oyer the hedge into the field, 
and he’s racing about there. He 4°es look so 
pretty ! Do come and see him. I want to fetch 
Lovel to see him, too." 

Before the words were out of the child’s mouth, 
I had started up in wild fear and was rushing 
downstairs. The alarm had begun to spread 
through the house, for the stableman had seen 




THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 129 

the riderless horse, and I met the groom, his face 
as white as ashes, coming in search of me. 

How shall I describe the awful moments of sus- 
pense that followed ? The carriage was prepared 
with a celerity never equalled in my stable, and 
we were driving fast and furiously along the 
road towards the farm Lovel had started to visit, 
almost before I had grasped what it was that had 
happened. The groom sat on the box by the 
coachman, neither having had time to don his 
livery. The children’s nurse sat beside me in the 
carriage. Surely so odd-looking an equipage had 
never before left the precincts of Lydgate. 

On and on dashed the horses. I had bid the 
man drive as for dear life, and he obeyed me to the 
letter. W e had, perhaps, traversed two miles of the 
road, when the carriage came to a sudden stop, 
and the groom bounded to the ground. 

My heart seemed to stand still. 

“ Open the door,” I gasped faintly ; u they have 
found him at last.” 

The servant opened the door, and I stepped out, 
holding to her arm, for I was too dazed to stand 
alone. 

I looked round, and the sight that met my gaze 
steadied my nerves in a moment. 

Lovel — my best-loved child — lay stretched 
motionless upon the hard road, and the man was 
kneeling beside him, with his hand upon his heart. 


130 


TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


I approached, and asked with the calmness born 
of intensity of feeling : 

u Is he dead ? ” 

It seemed an eternity before the answer came. 

“I don’t think so, ma’am. I think his heart 
beats — a little.” 

I stooped over the boy and touched him. He was 
white and cold and senseless. His sunny hair was 
clotted with the blood that oozed from an ugly 
wound on the side of his head. One of his arms 
was doubled under him in a manner which plainly 
showed it to be broken. 

My heart for a moment failed me utterly. I 
had no hope that my son would be given back to 
me. 

“ Lift him into the carriage,” I said faintly. “ Be 
as gentle as you can. We must get him home as 
quickly as possible. Oh, Lovel ! Lovel ! My son, 
my son ! ” these last words were only murmured to 
myself. 

My orders were obeyed ; and we were quickly at 
home. The doctor was there almost at once, for I 
had despatched a messenger to him before we had 
started on our expedition. 

I could not read the expression of his face as he 
looked at the boy, and forced a little stimulant 
between the clenched teeth ; but my own heart 
told me that there was no hope. 

We laid him in his own little bed. Lovel’s room 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH . 


131 


was conveniently situated, and opened, on either 
side, into the apartments occupied by his brothers. 
One of these rooms I took for my own use, and 
allotted the other to the children’s nurse — a faith- 
ful and trustworthy woman, who had long served 
the Baskerville family. 

When Dr. Hornbury came out of Lovel’s room 
I addressed him with some imperiousness of tone. 

“Tell me the truth. Is there, or is there not, a 
faint spark of hope. ? ” 

He looked at me from under his shaggy eye- 
brows, and helped himself to a pinch of snuff. He 
had known me all my life, and always treated me 
with a sort of paternal familiarity 

“ My dear young lady — I mean, my dear madam 
— you know that whilst there is life there is hope; 
but I will not disguise from you the fact that the 
case is a very serious one.” 

“ You think he will die ? ” 

“ I decline, so far, to pronounce a decided opinion. 
Whilst this state of unconsciousness lasts, it is im- 
possible to make an exhaustive diagnosis.” 

“ You think he will recover his senses? ” 

“ I think it possible. It would be a favorable 
sign ; but I fear the spine may have suffered. He 
was lying on his back when you found him, you 
say ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ A fall from a horse, eh ? ” 


132 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


I shivered slightly. 

“Yes.” 

“ Was he alone ? ” 

“ He did not start alone ; but I suppose he and 
his friend had parted company on the homeward 
road, as their way did not lie entirely in the same 
direction. I did not think of that when I let him 
go. 

I suppose my face must have expressed more 
self-reproach than the words, for the old man 
answered : 

“Tut ! tut ! my dear ; you must not take things 
to heart like that. My own experience is that 
horses go more quietly alone than in company; 
and if a horse swerves and throws his rider, no 
companion can be of any help in averting the 
catastrophe.” 

But Dr. Hornbury was far from understanding 
the deeper grief that lay below. That grief could 
only be known to the heart upon which it lay like 
a leaden weight. He went away promising to re- 
turn later in the day, and I went back to the sick 
room. 

I found little Ursula sitting curled up at the bed’s 
foot, watching Lovel’s unconscious face with her 
peculiarly earnest eyes. 

Those two children, so very different in disposi- 
tion, had always been deeply attached, and the boy 
had always much preferred to have his sister for his 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 


133 


companion than any of his brothers. Thus I was 
not surprised that Ursula had found her way into 
the room ; but I was much surprised at her com- 
posure, for I should have expected that the sight 
of the bandaged head, and the arm in splints, would 
have frightened her into an agony of grief and 
terror. But it did not seem as if she had shed one 
tear. 

“ Mother,” said the child, looking up at me, “ is 
Lovel going to die ? ” 

The question so quietly asked gave me a curious 
shock. I answered almost harshly : 

“ How can you ask anything so dreadful about 
your brother? ” 

“Is it dreadful?” asked Ursula wonderingly. 
“ I thought dying was only going to Jesus.” 

I did not know how to answer. Dying to me 
meant the valley of the shadow, leading to unknown 
realms of darkness. Heaven was a name familiar 
enough, but it conveyed no real meaning to my 
mind. 

“ I wish it could be me instead of Lovel,” con- 
tinued Ursula wistfully. “He is so strong and 
brave, and he does not want to die yet ; but I 
should like to go to Jesus, and live with the beau- 
tiful angels.” 

I was too overwrought to listen calmly to words 
like these. I answered sharply: 

“You must not make a noise here, or you will 


134 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


have to go. I can’t have Lovel disturbed; and/ 
you do not know what you are talking about.” 

44 It is all in the Bible,” Ursula answered softly, 

44 I can find most of the places.” 

She had her little book with her, and began 
reading, whispering the words to herself. She did 
not talk any more, but gazed at Lovel, from time 
to time, as if she were distressed and perplexed by 
his strange irresponsiveness 

I have no idea of the flight of time that day. I 
know that food was brought to me, that Ursula 
was carried off to her dinner ; that she crept back 
by-and-by to her old place, and that the time drew 
near for the return of my husband ; yet it seemed 
to me as if years, not hours, had passed since my 
boy had come to me, in all the glow of health and 
beauty, and had asked leave to ride the forbidden 
horse. 

The sound of wheels through the open window 
at last announced a return. Lovel had not stirred 
nor shown the least sound of life all this time. I 
whispered to Ursula 

44 Don’t leave him whilst I am away.” 

And then I prepared to go down and tell my 
husband the whole story. 

But ill news travels fast. Thomas had heard 
rumors of disaster whilst ten miles from home, and 
at the lodge he had heard enough to confirm his 
worst fears. 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 


135 


He met me with an earnest look, and a question 
uttered tremblingly : 

“ Am I in time ? ” 

44 He still lives, but he knows no one.” 

44 Is there hope ? ” 

44 They do not say there is not, but I have none.” 

He looked tenderly at me, and took my hand 
within his arm as we went onwards together. 

44 How ? ” he asked. 44 That young horse? ” 

I bent my head. 

44 Ah ! ” he said, and heaved a deep sigh. 44 Dis- 
obedience — disobedience — the first sin, and the 
commonest.” 

I commanded myself, and answered steadily : 

46 It was not disobedience. I gave him leave to 
ride the horse to-day.” 

My husband made no answer in words, but he 
drew me more closely to himself, for I was trem- 
bling like an aspen. I had expected his hold to 
relax when I had made this confession, and I was 
deepl} r touched by this unconscious testimony of 
his love. 

In the course of a few hours Lovel recovered 
consciousness, but remained for some days in a 
heavy, dazed state, unable to talk or to think con- 
secutively, and we had little or no hope of his 
ultimate recovery. During that time Ursula often 
sat for hours together in the room. I had left her 
there alone for a fe^ minutes on one occasion, and 


136 


TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


on returning with my husband, as we passed over 
the threshold, he paused and whispered, “ Hush ! 
what are they saying ? ” 

We could see into the room ourselves, but its 
occupants could not see us, for Ursula was stand- 
ing at the bedside, with her back towards us, and 
she concealed our proximity from the sick boy. 

But we heard distinctly the softly spoken dia- 
logue : — 

“ Jesus will forgive you, if you ask Him, Lovel, 
and that is better even than father. You know 
father would forgive you, if he were here ; and 
Jesus loves you better than father can.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“ Because He died for us — for you, Lovel, and 
for everybody. He must love us all, to do that. 
You love Him, don’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, I do. I’ve loved him ever since we began 
reading together ; but I wish I had been better. I 
did so many wrong things. I oughtn’t to have 
coaxed mother to let me ride Comet that morn- 
ing.” 

“ Don’t talk so much,” advised the prudent Ur- 
sula, “ and don’t fret. Jesus will forgive all your 
sins if you ask Him. He will make you whiter 
than snow — the Bible says so.” 

“ I don’t deserve it,” said the boy remorsefully. 

“But Jesus loves us,” answered the little girl. 
“ He died to take away all sin — your sin, because 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 137 

you rode the gray horse, and everything else you’ve 
done, and everything everybody’s done.” 

“ You’re quite sure ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! It says so in the Bible.” 

“ Ursula, am I going to die ? ” asked the boy 
suddenly. 

We were just going to move forward then, but 
I clutched my husband’s arm, and made him pause, 
I felt as if I could not face my boy with that ques- 
tion on his lips. 

“ I don’t quite know,” answered little Ursula. 
“ I don’t think anybody quite knows. You wouldn’t 
much mind dying, would you, Lovel dear? It 
must be so nice to go away with a beautiful angel, 
and live with Jesus always. You wouldn’t be 
afraid to go, would you ? ” 

“No, I don’t think I should be afraid; but I 
didn’t want to die yet,” said the boy regretfully. 
“ There are so many things I wanted to do first.” 

“ I wish it could be me instead,” said Ursula. 
“ I should like to go to live up there ; and if I did, 
I should ask God to let me help to take care of 
you. Perhaps, Lovel, you will find that you can 
still go on working and doing things there . I don’t 
think we’re ever meant to be lazy, and I don’t 
think we could ever be quite happy without some 
kind of work to try and please God.” 

“ Then I’ll try not to mind it any more,” an- 
swered the boy. “ I’ll think about Jesus, and how 


138 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


He loves me, and then I’ll not worry any more. 
I’ll be brave if I can, as He was.” 

At that moment a sob of irrepressible anguish 
burst from me, and the children perceived that 
they were not alone. My husband went over to 
the bedside and bent over the boy, whilst I sank 
down in a chair in a tempest of grief. 

I can hardly now analyze my feelings at that 
supreme moment ; but I believe the keenest pang 
I then suffered was due to the revelation of depths 
in my boy’s nature that I had never sounded — of 
thoughts and yearnings which had not been 
brought to me to be discussed, but had been taken 
where they were more certain of meeting sympathy 
— to the little sister whom he had loved so well. 

Those who know most of children know well 
how utterly at variance sometimes the two sides 
of a character may appear ; how a careless, high- 
spirited, wilful child, who seems to live only and 
entirely for the present, may yet possess a deep 
undercurrent of devotional feeling, apparently 
almost irreconcilable with the surface thoughts 
and actions ; and how this deeper vein is sometimes 
undetected, even by those who know the child 
best, until something occurs to disturb the quiet 
flow of life, and sound the depths beneath. 

So it had been with my Lovel. He had always 
appeared to me as’ careless, light-hearted, and 
spirited as I had been at his age. He certainly 


THE SHADDOW OF DEATH . 


139 


had inherited my pride and daring and wayward- 
ness to a remarkable extent, and I never supposed 
that the resemblance ended with externals. I had 
no idea that the gay and happy boy, in whom I 
took such pride, had moments of earnest penitence 
and eager striving after higher things ; that he and 
his little sister read their Bible together from time 
to time, and had their own ideas about a future 
state and the love and duty they owed to God. 

This sudden revelation seemed, as with a light- 
ning flash, to reveal to me the state of my own 
heart, and its dreary desolation and darkness. 

My boy, who had turned to his mother for help 
and sympathy in all else, had divined, with the 
unerring instinct of childhood, that on these mat- 
ters he would come to her in vain. 

I was roused from my wild outbreak of grief by 
the sound of a feeble voice. 

“ Mother,” said Lovel, “ don’t cry so. You 
mustn’t mind, because it was my fault, and father 
has forgiven me — and God has too, I’m sure.” 

As I wiped my tear-dimmed eyes, and gazed 
into the boy’s face, an awful sense of fear swept 
across me. What had brought that strange, far- 
away look into those bright eyes ? What was it 
my boy saw that was hidden from us ? 

I checked my tears, and I felt that my husband 
was supporting me. 

“ Is it? — is it ? ” I gasped. 


140 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


u I believe it is,” he answered ; “ he could not 
swallow a minute back. Do not trouble him by- 
tears. He is fit to go.” 

Little Ursula was standing beside him, very- 
calm and quiet and fearless. 

“ Is it very dark, Lovel ? ” 

“ No — not now.” 

“ Did the angels come just now ? Was it them 
you saw.” 

“ I don’t know what I saw. I think it must have 
been — Jesus.” He paused, then asked faintly: 

“ Ursula — what was it? — that verse — I want it 
again ” 

And clearly came the words from the unfaltering 
lips of childhood : 

“ Yea, though I walk through the valley of the 
shadow of death, I will fear no evil : for Thou art 
with me : Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.” 

There was a moment’s pause, and then Lovel's 
own bright smile shone over his face. 

“ That is it — it is quite true — He is with me — 
Jesus.” 

He never spoke again — my bright, beautiful boy. 
He left us with a smile upon his lips, thinking so 
little of the dark journey that he hardly said fare- 
well. As he had lived so he died — happy and 
brave and trusting. 

I saw his eyes close ; I watched the last breath 
drawn, and then a darkness fell upon me, and I 
remember no more. 



CHAPTER XII. 

AWAKENING. 

DID not know how long that strange sleep 
had lasted, when at length I opened my 
eyes to light and life once more. 

I was in my own bed, and the sun was shining 
upon the drawn blind, and little Ursula, in a black 
frock and a black sash over her pinafore, was 
curled up in an armchair near to the bed, with a book 
upon her knee, over which her bright head was 
earnestly bent. 

I awoke with that sense of oppression we all 
know so well, feeling that some great sorrow hung 
over me, which I could not yet recall. The change 
from white to black in my little girl’s dress seemed 
to bring the dreaded presence nearer ; but still I 
had not grasped the full sense of what it meant. 

One name sprang as by instinct to my lips, and 
half unconsciously I gave it utterance : 

“ Lovel ! ” 



142 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


My little girl raised her head quickly, and when 
she saw that my eyes were open, she came towards 
me and climbed upon the bed to kiss me. 

“ You are better, mother dear; you have awoke. 
I must go and tell somebody ; they said so.” 

“ Wait one moment,” I answered, detaining the 
child. “ Tell me — Lovel ” 

She looked at me with a smile. 

“ Lovel is in heaven, mother. He went there a 
week ago ! ” 

The little one’s face looked almost unearthly in 
its strange, thoughtful brightness. It was as if she 
had been gazing into the great unseen world around 
us, until she had herself in some measure partaken 
of its mysterious life and joy. One cannot see 
an expression like that upon the face of a child 
without a curious pang. 

I shrank from looking at her. There was some- 
thing in the expression of the lovely little face 
strangely like that upon my boy’s, just before he 
closed his eyes and went away — “ with Jesus.” I 
could not bear to see it, and I closed my eyes and 
asked : 

u Have they buried him yet ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Ursula, “two days ago. But, 
mother, you must not mind. It is not Lovel they 
buried. Lovel is in heaven. 

I made no answer, and the child stole away, to 
tell of the change in my condition. 


AWAKENING. 


143 


I lay still, thinking. The stupor induced by 
grief, exhaustion, and the opiates, which had held 
my senses in thrall for a whole week, had saved me 
an illness both of body and mind. I awoke with 
all my faculties unimpaired, and with a feeling of 
physical power that seemed at variance with my 
present situation. I felt disposed to rise and dress, 
but waited until someone should come to me; and 
meantime I lay still, trying to realize the blank that 
had came in my life. 

The week of sleep counted as nothing to me. 
It seemed so short a time since my boy had come 
bounding into my room, begging leave to ride his 
young horse ; and yet I knew’ that he lay sleeping 
in the quiet churchyard, that he had passed utterly 
and entirely from my world, that I should see his 
bright face and hear his merry voice no more, that 
when I resumed my daily life, all would be as if 
Lovel had never lived amongst us. 

I seemed to see ns by a lightning flash all that 
the boy had been to me, and the desolation that his 
death must bring. 

“ It was I who killed him,” I said to myself. “ It 
is just that the puishment should fall upon me.” 

When my husband came to me he found me 
quite calm. My grief was too deep-seated to find 
relief in tears or lamentations. He was very gentle 
and tender ; neither then nor at any other time did 
he, by word or look, reproach me for the act which 


144 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


had deprived us of one of our children. I was 
greatly touched by his forbearance, and our sorrow 
drew us gradually more closely together ; but for 
the first few days and weeks I could not feel entirely 
at ease even with him, and was really happier with 
my little Ursula for my companion than with any- 
one else 

Lovel’s name was never mentioned in my pres- 
ence by any other member of the household. The 
boys had been cautioned, and they abstained from all 
allusion to their brother ; and between my husband 
and me stood that mutual consciousness of my folly 
and self-will which made the subject a painful one. 
But with Ursula all w r as different. She spoke and 
thought of Lovel as of one not very far away — as 
of one not lost, but gone before into a land that 
was very bright, yet not so very distant. 

Ah, blessed, simple faith of childhood ! How 
much it taught me during those dark days ! 

My thoughts dwelt very much, at this time, upon 
the mysteries of death. I had now watched by 
three death-beds, and seen three human souls pass 
away into the valley of the shadow. 

My mother’s death was so calm and peaceful 
that it never seemed like death, but only a sweet 
sleep from which she never woke. My mother-in- 
law, too, passed away, fearless and calm, trusting 
toiler “ crucified Saviour ” and the redemption He 
had bought. And both these deaths had produced 


AWAKENING . 


145 


upon me a certain undefined impression — a certain 
sense of wonder and of envy, and a wish that I too 
could feel the assurance of a Saviour’s love, strong 
enough to support me in a mortal conflict. 

To me the valley of the shadow looked inexpres- 
sibly dark and awful. Sometimes, before the birth 
of my children, when my thoughts had turned 
upon possibilities, I had shrunk with unspeakable 
terror from the idea of that dread passage from life 
to death, and had marvelled more and more how 
anyone could find courage to enter it without a 
fear or a sight. 

But then, I had argued, my mother and Mrs. 
Baskerville were elderly women. They had passed 
life’s meridian long since, and had learnt lessons 
impossible to the young and happy. They had 
been sobered by trials and losses ; their lives had 
been lived out, and they were content to go. When 
I had lived as long as they, I told myself, I too 
should be ready, even glad to die ; but it was not 
natural for the young to be so willing to leave all 
that makes life bright. The dark valley must be 
very terrible to them. 

And now ? 

Now I had seen my bright and happy boy pass 
away, without a doubt or a fear, into the unknown 
land. He was no mere infant, my Lovel, uncon- 
scious of the worth of life or the power of death. 
He was eleven years old, and forward in mind and 


146 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


thought as in body. He loved the beautiful world 
that had been such a happy place to him. He did 
not wish to leave life and to go away into the un- 
known land of the grave. He had sufficient mental 
strength to think of all this, and to reason about 
it ; and yet, when the summons came, he could 
meet it without a fear, and go away into the black 
darkness, that was no darkness to him, because 
Jesus was there. 

What was the meaning of it all? I was no 
heathen ; I too believed in God and in Christ. I 
knew that God’s power and His presence were 
everywhere. I knew that He was mightier than 
death ; but knowledge brought no comfort to me 
— no personal sense of security. I could not face 
death calmly, with only my cold knowledge and 
careless belief to cling to. 

It is hardly surprising that I should feel thus. 
I had never yet realized that the Saviour’s great 
work is to teach us how to live rightly and happily. 
It is after a life of trust in Him, and experience of 
His love, that death comes as a “ falling asleep.” 
I had many lessons to learn, and this one came in 
a sharp and terrible experience. 

What made the subtle difference between me 
and others ? This question I often put to myself ; 
but I could not answer it. It was through Ursula’s 
simple words that the answer came at last. 

“ Ursula,” I said one day, “ if you were to die, 


AWAKENING . 


147 


would Jesus take you as you say Pie took 
Lovel ?” 

She looked up with a sudden smile in her eyes. 

“ Oh, yes, mother ; I know he would. I think, 
perhaps, He would bring Lovel with Him.” 

‘•How do you know He would take you?” I 
asked. “Is it because you read the Bible, and try 
to be good ? ” 

Ursula shook her head with decision, and my 
heart sank, for I was reading and striving after 
right, in order to win for myself a place in the 
promised heaven. 

“ What then ? ” I asked ; and the child, looking 
down at a page before her, answered softly : 

“ It’s because He loves us, and says, ‘Suffer the 
little children to come unto Me, for of such is the 
kingdom of heaven.’ ” 

Simple, familiar words ; but they struck upon my 
ears to-day with a new meaning. 

“ Have you gone to Him, Ursula? ” 

“ Oh, yes, mother dear.” 

“ How can you ? ” I asked. “ You cannot go to 
Him as those little children did whose mothers 
took them.” 

Questions like these made Ursula rather shy ; 
but I could hear the softly-spoken answer, even 
though her head was bent low. 

“We can love Him. When we pray we go to 
Him. He is always quite near, though we can’t 


148 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


see Him till we die ; but we know He is. The 
Bible says so.” 

Always the same assurance — the Bible says so. 
How well that child knew the Bible, and how little 
I did! I never’ could draw from its pages the 
sweet promises she did. 

“ God can’t be near everyone, you know, Ursula,” 
I objected, talking to her as if she had been almost 
a woman. “ Think how many wicked people there 
are in the world. Pie can’t be near them too.” 

The child seemed to turn this idea over in her 
mind, and then she looked up quickly, with a 
strange light as of inspiration shining in her eyes. 

“ Mother,” she said earnestly, u don’t you think 
it’s like this, perhaps? God is just as near them, 
only they put up their sins like a wall, and keep 
Him away.” 

The words fell on my conscience with a curious 
sense of significance. Was that what I had been 
doing all my life long — raising up a wall of parti- 
tion between my soul and God ? 

“ Does sin keep God away ? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, yes ! He cannot come into our hearts 
whilst the sin is there.” 

“ Then what can we do ? ” 

Ursula now thought I was questioning her for 
her own benefit, as the children’s father often did 
on a Sunday afternoon. Her answers came more 
readily. 


AWAKENING. 


149 


“ We must get it taken away.” 

“How?” 

“We must go to Jesus, and ask Him to wash it 
all away in His blood.” 

“ And will he?” 

“ Oh, yes, always, if He sees we are really sorry, 
and if we believe in Him.” 

“Believe what?” 

She looked at me quickly, and answered, quoting 
her father now : 

“ Believe that He is the Son of God, and that 
He died for our sins, and that He wants to wash 
every one of us as white as snow, if we will repent 
and go to Him.” 

Familiar words, T say again; but with what a 
new force they struck upon my ear ! I felt suddenly 
overcome ; and, burying my face in my hands I 
sobbed aloud. 

Ursula thought I was weeping for Lovel ; and 
she pressed her little head against me in silent 
sympathy. Presently, as my sobs decreased in 
violence, she rose and stood beside me, and passed 
her soft arms round my neck 

“ Mother dear, don’t cry,” she whispered. “ Lovel 
is so happy ; don’t let us wish him back, or be un- 
happy. We shall see him again some day. And 
Jesus will send you a Comforter.” 

“You are my best comforter,” I sobbed. 

“ Oh, no, mother,” answered the child firmly and 


150 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


gently. “ I am only a little girl. But Jesus will 
send you a Comforter who will never go away.” 

“What do you mean, my darling?” I asked, 
catching her suddenly in my arms, for why did she 
speak as if she might go away ? “ What do you 

mean? ” 

“ I mean the Holy Spirit, mother,” she answered. 
“ Jesus called Him the Comforter. I think it means 
that the Holy Spirit helps us and comforts us 
whenever we are unhappy. Jesus said He would 
send the Comforter to the disciples, to stay with 
them always ; and if He sent Him to them, I’m 
sure He’ll send him to us too.” 

A distant shout of “Ursula ! ” somewhere in the 
house took the little maid away ; but her words 
seem to ring in my ears with strange power. It is 
ever thus in life. We go on our way for a time, 
careless and unthinking ; sacred truths are heard 
and accepted without any sense of true conviction; 
beautiful words of love, and tender promises of 
help, pass by unheeded, whilst we say in our hearts 
that we do not need such help, that we are strong 
enough to stand alone. And then one day our 
pride is humbled to the dust, our broken hearts 
and contrite spirits are attuned to hear the words 
we have scorned, and to read their lessons aright, 
and we are open to influences which in former 
days would have passed us by without moving us 
one whit. 


A WAKENING . 


151 


Thus it was with me at least. I had passed 
through a bitter, fiery trial. My old armor of cold 
indifference had fallen from me, and the Word 
of God, like a two-edged sword, had cleft my 
heart in twain, and shown me all its hideous 
bareness. 

I sank upon my knees and prayed, as I had never 
prayed in my life before — such a prayer as can 
hardly be prayed twice in a life-time — for it was a 
wrestling with doubt, darkness, and despair, such 
as can hardly fall upon the same spirit more 
than once on its journey through this mortal 
life. 

My child’s soft hand had placed within mine the 
key whereby to escape from this blank darkness ; 
but in my loneliness and desolation of heart I felt 
the need of a stronger hand than hers to lean upon. 
How could her innocent soul know aught of the 
terrible conflict raging in mine ? 

Suddenly I felt a strong arm round me. 

My husband had entered unobserved, and was 
now kneeling beside me. 

For an hour we knelt together, and over that 
hour I must draw the veil of silence. Even now I 
cannot speak of that most sacred time, in which 
our two souls were knit together in the love of our 
Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ. 

Suffice it to say that ere we rose from our knees 
I had learned the lesson — the great lesson this life 


152 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


holds for us ; and that I had learnt, too, to know 
and to love the husband I had married, but whom 
until now I had never truly loved. My soul was 
awakened at last from its long sleep. 








































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CHAPTER XIII. 

A FADING FLOWER. 


OW often do we notice that, when Death has 
once made an entrance into a house, he 
seldom seems content with one victim ! 
Sometimes he strikes again and yet again, as if his 
hand would never stay : but even when this is not 
the case, we frequently remark the fact that a death 
seldom comes alone, and have an instinctive fear 
that one will be followed by a second. 

Three quiet weeks had passed since Lovel's 
death, weeks of mingled sadness and joy, in which 
I learned the bitterness of grief and the heal- 
ing powers of God’s love, in a manner that was 
utterly strange to me; when I was destined to be 
rudely roused from the tranquil state of restful and 
refreshing calmness into which I had sunk. 

I was sitting one day in my boudoir, with my 
little Uusula beside me, and we had been reading 
together from the Book she so greatly loved, when 



154 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


we were interrupted by Dr. Hornbury, wlio still 
considered me a sort of patient of bis. 

Ursula put away her book and prepared to go, as 
she always did when the doctor came to see me. 
He patted her head and spoke a few words to her 
as she passed him, and I fancied he looked at her 
rather closely. 

When she had gone, he looked out of the win- 
dow and took a pinch of snuff. He did not ask me 
any questions about my health, but remarked in an 
abstracted way : 

“ That child wants change of air and scene/’ 

“ Change ? ” 

“ Yes, I’d take her down to the sea if I were you, 
and brace her up. It would do you good yourself 
too ; but the child needs it.” 

An anxious pain seemed to clutch at my heart. 

“ You do not think her ill ? ” 

He still looked out of the window and took more 
snuff before answering. 

“ I don’t say she is ill ; but I don’t like her looks. 
You try what a change will do.” 

“ The house lies low,” I remarked, “ and the 
weather has been very hot. It has tried everyone. 
The Mount — my husband’s place, you know — is 
much cooler and more bracing. Do you think we 
had better go back there ? ” 

“ Try the sea first — try the sea first,” advised the 
old man. “ If that doesn’t set her up, take her 


A FADING FLOWER . 


155 


back to the Mount ” — and here he paused to clear 
his throat, whilst I looked at him with a kind of 
fearful anxiety that could not be translated into 
words. 

My husband came in at this moment, and was 
startled at the expression of my face. 

“ What is it ? ” he asked quickly. 

“ Ursula — Dr. Hornbury thinks her ill,” I an- 
swered with a sort of gasp. 

“ My dear madam — ” began the doctor ; but he 
knew me well enough not to attempt to equivocate. 
“ The fact is,” he concluded hastily, “ the child has 
had a shock; and she ought to be taken away from 
a place so full of associations.” 

“ A shock ? ” 

“ Yes, a shock — do you suppose it was no shock 
to a sensitive child like that, to see her brother 
brought in senseless and covered with blood ? Do 
you suppose it was no shock for her to see him die 
— you tell me she was with him to the last — and 
then to see you fall down in your turn, and remain 
unconscious for a week? Then a funeral brings 
its own sense of fear to a child’s mind — there is 
something ver}^ awful in all that show of black. 
Altogether the little girl has had too much of it. 
She is looking thin and white, and her head looks 
as if it thought from morning till night.” 

My husband listened very gravely. 

“ It did not seem a shock at the time,” he said. 


156 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


“ The child seemed more composed than any of 
us.” 

“ That has nothing to do with it — indeed, I think 
it makes matters rather worse than better,” an- 
swered the doctor hastily. “ If children scream and 
cry, one knows things are all right, and can deal 
with them by the usual method. But when they 
take things in a calm, composed way, as your little 
daughter did, it shows a temperament that I don’t 
like to see in children. Depend upon it she has 
taken it all in, and thinks it all over and over 
again, by day and night. Things sink deep where 
no outward expression is given. That child’s eyes 
have a look I do not like to see. It is too un- 
earthly for my taste.” 

I knew so well what he meant — I too had seen 
that spiritual look in my Ursula’s deep eyes, that 
made me think, as I watched her, how near a child’s 
soul may be to the angel world around us. But I 
had never thought that this nearness of soul im- 
plied a fragility of body, such as my old friend had 
detected. In a moment a strange presentiment 
seized me with a force past all resisting. I knew 
from that time forth that my little girl would die ; 
that God would call to Himself the soul that 
longed to be gathered to its Saviour ; and that the 
little angel-child, who had been lent to me, and 
had led me to Jesus, would now be taken away, to 
shine as one of the jewels in His crown. 


A FADING FLOWED. 


157 


I think this certainty from the first moment 
saved me much pain in the days that lay before me. 

I took my trouble straight to One who was Him- 
self a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. 
I knelt before Him and poured out my whole soul 
in prayer ; and I did not rise from my knees until 
I had been able to say from the very bottom of my 
heart, “ Thy will be done.” 

Oh, wonderful power of prayer! Those only 
who have taken to God their troubles and their 
anguisli of soul, those alone can know that deep 
and wondrous calm that stills the tempest-tossed 
soul, as though a still small voice made itself heard 
above the tumult, saying, “ Peace, be still ” ; and 
at that voice the tempest cannot but cease in a 
great calm — the peace of God that passeth all un- 
derstanding. 

Yes, my little Ursula, I gave you up. I never 
grudged you the happiness of the strange, new life 
to which you soon awoke. I gave you willingly up 
into the keeping of the Heavenly Father. I was 
glad to yield to Him the fairest of the children He 
had given me. 

We went away together — my frail little daughter 
and I — to a sweet, sunny, breezy place upon the 
south coast ; and there we passed three quiet weeks, 
to which I shall always look back with a sense of 
gratitude that is akin to joy. Very tender memo- 
ries rise up before me, as I carry my mind back to 


158 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


those days. I was brought into close communion 
with the purest, sweetest soul, I think, that ever 
yet drew breath ; and though it was but the soul of 
a child, what then? Do we not sometimes obtain 
strange glimpses of the meaning of those significant 
words, “ Father, I thank Thee that Thou hast hid 
these things from the wise and prudent, and hast 
revealed them unto babes and again, “ Out of the 
mouths of babes and sucklings hast Thou perfected 
praise ? ” Do we not from time to time learn from 
the guileless lips of children, lessons that we have 
missed in the busy whirl of life ? 

Someone has said of children that the light of the 
heaven they have lately left shines upon their path- 
way for a while ; and when their steps are tending 
straight for the heavenly goal, may it not be that 
the heavenly radiance grows brighter round them 
as they move ? 

I think my little Ursula knew very soon that the 
call had gone forth, and that she was following 
Lovel’s footsteps down towards the dark valley. 

“ Mother,” she said quietly to me one day, as we 
sat together upon the sand, and watched the play 
of the great waves, as they rolled in under the sunny 
sky, “ mother, am I going to die soon ? ” 

The question did not surprise me. Ursula was 
too thoughtful a child not to be aware of a great 
deal that would pass unheeded by many little ones. 

“ I do not know, my darling,” I answered. u No- 


A FADING FLOWER. 


159 


body has told me so. They have sent us here for 
you to get stronger.’’ 

Ursula sat with her chin in her hand and looked 
out over the sea. 

“ I thought so,” she answered ; “ but I don’t get 
any stronger ; I get weaker every day.” 

I was quite aware of this, and I drew the child 
tenderly towards me, a great yearning rising up 
within me that made speech somewhat difficult. 

“ My darling would not be afraid to go to Jesns, 
if He called for her ? ” 

“ Oh, no, mother dear,” she answered, looking 
up with one of her sudden radiant smiles ; and after 
a pause she added dreamily, “ You know I asked 
Lovel to ask if I might come soon. He has not 
forgotten, has he ? ” 

I pressed my darling close in my arms. I too 
had never forgotten the words that had once passed 
between the two children at Lovel’s dying bed. 

“ Do you want to leave me, Ursula ? ” I could 
not refrain from asking. “ Could you not be happy 
to stay with us a little while ? ” 

She looked up with a shy wistfulness in her 
glance. 

“ I do not think I knew you then, mother,” she 
said. “ I thought you only cared for Lovel. It 
was naughty of me. Will you forgive me ? ” and 
she put up her mouth for a kiss. 

How my heart smote me as I pressed my lips to 


160 


TUE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


hers ! So even my children had seen how wrapped 
up I was in one, to the exclusion of all the rest ! 
Ursula’s words were bitterly true. I had in reality 
only cared for Lovel. I had never valued this 
little tender blossom, until the reaper whose name 
is Death had whetted his sickle and prepared to 
take it away. 

“ I know better now,” continued Ursula after a 
pause. “You are such a dear, dear mother. I 
love you so very, very much. I don’t want to 
leave you, only I should best like to go to Jesus, for 
I love Him best of all. It isn’t naughty, is it ?” and 
she looked up with an undefined doubt in her 
sweet eyes. 

“ No, my darling,” I answered. “ I am glad, so 
glad, that Jesus comes first of all ; and although I 
love my precious little girl more than I can say, I 
am not going to grieve if I have to let her go. The 
tender Shepherd will take better care of my little 
lamb than I can do ; and if He calls her and gath- 
ers her in His arms I shall try to be glad, and shall 
only wait more gladly for the great day when He 
will call me too, and give me my children back 
again.” 

Ursula nestled very close in my arms. I knew 
that with her it was best to be open. Indeed, I 
could not hide from her what was in my heart. 
Our souls seemed strangely knit together, by the 


A FADING FLOWER. 1G1 

unity of our thoughts and sympathies. Presently 
she looked up with a smile. 

44 That is so nice,” she said with a sigh, as of 
satisfaction. 44 I didn’t want you to fret ; I couldn’t 
bear you to cry for me as you did for Lovel. 
Mother dear, did the Comforter come ? ” 

44 He did, darling, He did.” 

44 And he will stay with you always ? ” 0 

44 I trust so. God grant I may never close my 
heart to him again ! ” 

The last words did not reach the child’s ears. 
She. looked up with a sweet smile. 

44 Then you won’t need to cry when I go away, 
because you will have the Comforter with you to 
take the trouble away.” 

It was with words like this that my precious 
child cheered and strengthened me. I can repeat 
their substance, even after the lapse of all these 
years; but nothing can reproduce the childlike 
sweetness and simplicity of voice and look, the 
wonderful nearness to God, which seemed to wrap 
| her round as with an atmosphere. She often 

I talked of the beautiful heaven whither she was 
going, as one might do who had really seen its 
glories. Sometimes it seemed to me that her eyes 
j did indeed look upon the glory towards which she 
was tending. 

One day she said : 

44 Mother, may I go home soon ? I like this 


162 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


place, and the sea is lovely ; and it is nice having 
you all to myself. But I seem to want to be at 
home ; and I am sure dear father must miss you 
dreadfully. I mustn’t be selfish. You see I don’t 
get any better ; and I should like to see them all 
again and to die at home.” 

So we went back to Lydgate. 

Some kind of epidemic had broken out near to 
the Mount ; therefore we could not go thither, and 
it was no longer any use blinding our eyes to the 
fact that our tender flower was fading fast, and 
that no air, and no change of scene, would keep 
her much longer with us. 

So we came back to my old home ; and I think 
I was glad to know that, when the time came, I 
should lay my little daughter to rest by the side of 
my brave boy, in the quiet spot where I myself 
had elected to be buried when my turn should 
come to lay down the burden of life. 

I did not look forward with any dread to the 
passage through the dark valley. 

Days passed quietly and swiftly onward, and the 
little lamp burned lower and lower in its socket, 
yet burned ever with a clearer, brighter ray. 

I had my husband now to lean upon, his love to 
cheer me, his courage to strengthen me, and, above 
all, I had that blessed assurance of inward peace, 
without which all outward help is vain, and I never 
faltered over my daily prayer, but said “ Thy will 


A FADING FLO WEB. 


163 


be done” with all the strength that was left me. 

The child’s mind was nearly always clear by day ; 
but in the night she sometimes wandered a little. 

She would talk of Lovel, and the conversations 
they had held together, of which I had never 
dreamt, and sometimes a pained look would come 
into her eyes and she would say : 

“ Mother says I am too little to understand about 
God ; but it never says in the Bible that we mayn’t 
love Him because we’re little. Jesus must have 
liked children, I think. I wish I had lived when 
He did. Perhaps mother would have taken me to 
Him then.” 

How my heart smote me when I heard words like 
these ! How they rang in my ears ! 

“ Perhaps mother would have taken me to Him 
then!” 

Ah ! how true are unconscious words that fall 
from the lips of childhood ! I had not taken my 
little ones to Jesus. I had not even found the way 
to Him .myself. And now I was to learn from my 
dying child that she had been dimly conscious of 
this neglect. My little Ursula had early found 
the Lord ; but it was not I who had taken her to 
Him. 

But I could not give way to grief or self-reproach. 
I could not even greatly regret that my child had 
found her own way to the foot of the Cross. No 
human teaching could have led her there so safely, 


164 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


and my neglect had been atoned for by One Whose 
teaching never errs. 

Ursula clung greatly to me during these days 
of weakness and pain. She was wonderfully patient, 
but her head troubled her a good deal, and nothing 
so soothed her as to rest in my arms, whilst I 
gently rocked her, and sang to her, or whispered 
sweet words from the Book she loved so well. 

Tf her father were also sitting by and holding one 
of her shadowy hands, her satisfaction seemed com- 
plete ; and many hours did we thus spend, lulling 
her into the sleep that rarely came for an hour or 
two after midnight. 

One night as we were thus engaged, watching 
her more closely and tenderly than usual, for the 
doctor had told us the end must be very near, she 
suddenly opened her eyes wide, and raised herself 
up on my shoulder. 

“ Lovel ! ” she cried gladly. 

My heart stood still as I followed the direction 
of her glance, wdiich was fixed upon the dim shadows 
of the room. I looked again at the little white face, 
which beamed with the joy of welcome. 

“ Lovel ! ” she cried again, more faintly . 

“ Mother dear, Jesus has sent Lovel. I can see 
him. He is beckoning me. Yes, Lovel, I will come. 
Kiss me, mother darling, and father too. I am going 
to Jesus.” 

I could barely catch the whispered words, spoken 


A FADING FLOWED. 


165 


with the last failing breath. We just had time to 
kiss our child, before she went away from us. 

She went out of the world, our precious little 
lamb, with the same Name upon her lips that had 
been upon LoveFs — the Name of Jesus. 

Good Shepherd, take our lambs, and keep them 
safe in Thy fold, and gather us to them when our 
time shall come ! 

What shall we say as we give them up to Thee ? 
Shall we weep or repine? Shall we not rather 
gladly say, “ The Lord hath called the child,” and 
bless Him that it is so? — for with the children thus 
called, most certainly and surely 44 It is well.” 




CHAPTER XIV. 

SOWING AND REAPING. 

FTER the death of my two children, four 
very quiet, peaceful years passed over my 
head. My boys were all at school : Tom at 
Eton, where the two younger joined him so soon as 
they had reached a suitable age, and for the greater 
part of the year my husband and I were alone to- 
gether in our home, learning a mutual love and 
confidence like nothing I had ever known before. 
It was a revelation to me of my reserved husband’s 
true nature and character, for which I gave God 
thanks each day of my life. He took, as it were, 
my hand in his, and led me along the path he had 
followed so steadily all his life long— the path that 
leads to life everlasting — and with his constant 
sympathy and help, and with the guidance of the 
Spirit of God — the Comforter my little Ursula 
had talked about — I was able, without many back- 





SOWING AND REAPING. 


167 


ward slips, to walk beside him, and to learn the 
love, and trust, and steadfast confidence in God so 
characteristic of my noble husband. 

In a nature like mine, there was great danger 
that the flame of love and religious joy, once kin- 
dled, should blaze up rapidly and burn itself out. 
The exalted state I often reached, during the days 
preceding and following my child's death, could not 
but leave behind a certain deadness of spirit when 
the reaction set in and the strain of tension had 
passed. Many dangers beset me — danger of over- 
much zeal, to be followed by listless apathy ; danger 
of doubts and fears when my ardent, burning 
prayers were not immediately answered; danger 
of sinking back into the careless state from which 
I had been aroused ; but from all these dangers I 
was by God’s mercy, saved, and that through the 
deep, unvarying tenderness, the constant support, 
and earnest guidance given me by the husband I 
had learnt at last to love as he deserved. 

Hand in hand we trod life’s hills together, look- 
ing upward and outward towards the eternal home 
which our two children had already gained. 

Two years after the death of Lovel and Ursula, 
twin children were born to me — a boy and a girl 
— given to me, as it seemed, in place of the two ; 
little ones I had lost. 

I had some thoughts of calling them by the 
names of the little ones who had gone away, but 


168 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


in the end I decided against this, and they were 
christened Elizabeth and Malcolm 

Very dear to me were these two tiny children, 
sent just when my boys were little with me, and 
were growing out of those childish ways and con- 
fidences which are so sweet to a mother’s heart. 

My husband was as proud as I was of our two 
babies, and, of the four peaceful years of which I 
spoke, the two last were peculiarly bright and 
sweet. 

And after they had passed by — two years and 
four months after the birth of the twins — my hus- 
band died. 

I shall not say much of this time, nor of the 
days that followed. Even now, although the pain 
and grief are so long past, and the reunion in the 
eternal home drawing so near, I shrink from re- 
calling that time, and would pass it by with as few 
words as possible. 

My husband was only ill three days. He had 
a slight cold, but we neither of us paid much heed 
to it, for he was a strong man and little troubled 
by any kind of ailment. He went out in a cold 
east wind, on a long drive, and got both chilled 
and wet before he returned. The cold settled 
upon his chest. Violent inflammation of the lungs 
set in, and in three days the struggle was over. 

For three days and nights I never left his side, 
and at the end of that time I closed his eyes, and 


SOWING AND REAPING. 169 

knew that in this world I should see his face no 
more. 

He was buried at Lydgate, by his own especial 
wish. His grave is next to the one that holds our 
two sweet children. I chose the motto for his last 
resting-place — he would have selected something 
different ; but I chose this : 

“ The path of the just is as a shining light , that 
shineth more and more unto the perfect day” 

The same stone bears the name of Lovel and 
Ursula, and their motto is this : 

w Yea , though I walk through the valley of the 
shadow of death , 1 will fear no evil , for Thou art 
zvith me” 

These words would equally apply to each of my 
three loved ones, who lay sleeping beneath the 
grass and the flowers. I had watched those three 
souls go out into the unknown silent land — my 
bright, laughing, wayward boy, who had gone with 
a brave smile upon his face, fearless and without a 
murmur; my little white-souled daughter, who 
had been glad to lay down her weary little frame 
and go to be with Jesus ; and even my husband, 
full of life’s vigor and life’s interests, bound to life 
by those chains of love to wife and children that 
are so very hard to tear asunder, even he had 
bowed his head to God’s decree, and had no words 
but u Thy will be done ” with which to meet the 
Heavenly Father’s call. He, though his heart had 


170 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

bled for me, had no fears for himself. The dark 
valley had no terrors ; he went forward calmly 
and resolutely, holding my hand to the very end, 
and murmuring with his last faint breath : 

u Surely I will be with thee.” 

Thus I was left alone, widowed and desolate, to 
take up the shattered remnants of my life, and do 
with them what I could. 

It was in March that my husband died, the 
March of 1838. The boys were at home for their 
Easter holidays, but they went back again to school 
as usual, saddened and subdued, and rather glad, I 
think, to escape from the mournful surroundings 
of a shadowed home. 

Tom was nearly seventeen, and w r as to leave 
school at Midsummer. We had intended sending 
him to the University; but he did not show any 
great aptitude for study, and my husband ex- 
pressed a wish on his death-bed that the lad 
should remain at home after his school career 
closed, to help me with the management of the two 
properties. He had a better head for business 
and for farming than for Latin and Greek, said the 
father, who had been so much to the boy, and his 
place in the future would be at home with his 
mother. 

But for the present I was alone in the great 
house, with only my two tiny children for my 
companions. 


SOWING AND REAPING . 


171 


Perhaps their merry prattle and unconsciousness 
of grief was the best solace I could have found. 
It was very sad to think that they would never 
remember the father who had loved them so 
proudly and fondly ; and the tears would spring 
to my eyes at their calls for “ dada,” or u baba ; ” 
but they were old enough to be distressed to see 
me cry, and would look up in my face with so 
much serious gravity and incipient sorrow, that I 
was forced to wipe away tlje tears and to smile 
back into the dear little faces, and the children 
were my best comforters in those sad days. 

I tried hard not to murmur against God, and I 
think I resigned myself to His will. I told myself 
again and again that He would not try me beyond 
my strength, and that with the trial would be sent 
grace and help to withstand the shock of grief and 
loss. 

I prayed without ceasing that my will might be 
made one with His, and earnest prayer is never 
made in vain. God heard me and answered me, 
and those dark and bitter days were made a bless- 
ing. My earthly prop had been taken away, but 
God gave me His own Spirit for my stay and sup- 
port. 

In the summer the boys came home, and we were 
all together at Lydgate, where for the future I in- 
tended to reside. The Mount was let for four 
years, after which time it would become the pro- 


172 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


perty of my eldest son, who would then have at- 
tained his majority. 

This arrangement was made by my own wish. I 
loved Lydgate well, and now that the graves of my 
loved ones were there, I seemed more bound to it 
than ever. My husband had come into consider- 
able sums of money from time to time, by the death 
of various relatives, and he could afford to leave 
both land and money to Tom, without robbing the 
younger children. We had talked the matter over, 
and decided that the Mount should be left unre- 
servedly to the lad, and that he should have full 
possession at twenty-one. 

Tom was seventeen at this time — a tall, strong, 
grave youth, not very popular — although much re- 
spected by his comrades at school, and more feared 
than liked, as it seemed to me, by his high-spirited 
young brothers. He was very reserved, and had 
only made one friend all through his life and that 
friend was his father. 

Now rather a painful task lies before me — a page 
of my life over which I would gladly turn without 
note or comment ; but I shall not do so, because I 
wish to give an example of that great truth which 
we so steadily disregard and try to disbelieve — that 
what we have sown that must we also reap, and 
that the mercy of God that fully forgives the 
sins we have - repented of, does not alter His 
own immutable law, or change that just decree. 


SOWING AND HEAPING . 


173 


And what had my sowing been in the years of 
my early married life ? 

I had not yielded to my husband the true meed 
of wifely love and obedience, and I had allowed 
my children to see this. I had not loved my sons 
with any real maternal love ; and, although they 
had never been actually neglected, they knew quite 
well — as what children do not ? — that it was not to 
the mother they must run for ready help, or sym- 
pathy, or comfort, in the hundred little joys and 
sorrows of childhood. 

I was uncertain with my children — oh, fatal fault ! 
— they never knew in what mood they would find 
me. Sometimes I could make them almost adore 
me for a brief space, but it was only a passing feel- 
ing, engendered by over-much indulgence and a 
surfeit of caresses. It did not stand the test of 
time. It w r as to the quiet, undemonstrative father, 
ever kind and ever just, that the real confidence 
and love of the boys were given. 

Impressions made upon the young do not easily 
change or fade. The past four years, which had 
wrought a change in me, had been passed by the 
boys away from home, and in the midst of other 
and vivid interests. They had known nothing of 
what had grown up during those years. The im- 
pressions — undefined and vague, perhaps, but not 
the less strong for that — with which they had 


174 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


grown up still continued, and I was to reap what 
my hand had sown. 

What I first observed, when my three great boys 
came home for the summer holidays, was a certain 
almost sullen reserve of manner on the part of 
Tom, and an indefinable lawlessness about the other 
two. It was as if they knew that a strong hand 
had been taken off the reins, and that they meant 
by degrees to shake off restraint and become their 
own masters. 

They were not exactly disobedient or openly 
defiant, but I felt, with a vague sense of uneasi- 
ness, that my authority was not powerful, and was 
glad that the school days of the two younger lads 
were not yet over. 

I did my utmost for them, but I fell into an error, 
which many mothers do, and the unwisdom of 
which I can see now, although at the time 1 acted 
as I believed for the best. 

In plain words, I over-talked my boys ; I overdid 
them with religious instruction. 

I knew that although I had been negligent upon 
this point, yet that their father had done much to 
supply this lack, and now I endeavored to fill both 
places myself, and to bring home to the hearts of 
the boys the deep lessons that I myself had learnt 
late, but which had sunk deeply in my nature. I 
knew these lessons could not be learnt too young, 
I knew that all else was dross in comparison with 


SOWING AND REAPING . 


175 


these golden truths, and I felt as if I could not rest 
until my boys were at one with me in what I fain 
would teach them. But in my .eagerness I forgot 
two very important facts. 

I forgot that early impressions and traditions 
cannot be effaced, and I forgot that due allowance 
must be made for temperament and circumstances. 

Let me explain myself a little more clearly, if I 
can. 

There is in the young a very deep sense that is 
best expressed by the word justice, and, although 
they are hardly aware of it, they have a great re- 
spect for, and a sound appreciation of consistency. 
They are too young and inexperienced to reconcile 
apparent inconsistencies, and the breadth of view 
we gain in after life is of necessity denied to them. 
They can only see sharply defined lines of right 
and wrong. They judge their elders with a cer- 
tain stern rectitude that these same elders little 
expect, and they reach conclusions which would be 
very startling if openly revealed. Moreover, all 
young people, more especially boys, have an in-' 
herent detestation of anything approaching “hum- 
bug.” 

Now, my boys were shrewd observers enough. 
They were quite aware that I was trying to rouse 
in them a religious fervor which I had not myself 
possessed at their age, and they resented this as an 
act of injustice and needless intolerance. They 


176 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


did not mind reading a daily portion of Scripture, 
as they had done with their father, or answering 
questions upon what they read ; but they could not 
endure the searching questions which I, in my 
anxiety, and in the responsibility of my posi- 
tion, could not refrain from putting from time to 
time, and they began to shun me with a natural 
boyish shyness, afraid lest I should introduce such 
subjects, or to give flippant, hasty answers, little 
knowing what pain they inflicted by so doing. 

I did not know the way to appeal to boys’ hearts. 
My husband had never found the difficulty I didin 
winning confidence. He would talk in a quiet, 
unemotional way about the things of God. He 
would tell his sons of the battle with sin, and of 
the armor they must wear for the fight. He did 
not look for them to feel any deep personal sense 
of sin and need for a Redeemer’s love. He waited 
patiently for that to come in its own time, as come 
it will to each one of us, but not to all at the same 
age, or at the will of man, but in answer to the 
power of God. He did not strive to work upon 
the boys’ feelings , but upon their understanding 
and their conviction. He knew how little good 
feeling alone can do, how quickly it passes, how 
easily it leads to self-deception and inward blind- 
ness. What he strove zealously to do was to pre- 
pare the soil, and sow the good seed deep down, 
and be content to leave the rest with God, Who 


SOWING AND HEAPING . 


177 


would make it spring up in His good time. 
Whereas I was forever trying to disturb the soil, 
to see if the seed were germinating, and every week 
that passed by without outward and visible result, 
seemed to me a week lost, and my heart sickened 
within me, lest my early neglect should have proved 
fatal, and the boys’ spirits ever remain insensible 
to heavenly influences. 

I suffered very acutely in those days. Some- 
times my heart failed within me. I sickened for 
the help and guidance of the husband who had 
been such a prop and stay for me. It seemed 
sometimes as if the burden laid upon me was al- 
most more than I could bear. I was responsible 
for the souls (so I told myself at least) of these 
boys, and I was unable to obtain any hold at all 
over them, none at least so far as I could see, and 
this by my own act and neglect, for I had not tried 
to win their confidence as children, and now the 
power to do so had gone. 

Once I might have done anything with Thomas. 
He loved me with a fearful, adoring love, almost 
doglike in its humility and constancy; but years 
of separation and school life had dulled this feeling, 
and now I could not trace any special love towards 
me in my eldest son. 

He was cold, reserved, and unresponsive. 
Nothing I could say or do seemed to change this 
attitude. He was respectful, and sometimes at- 


178 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

tentive, but I Knew no more of his inner life than 
if he had been a total stranger. 

My husband had often told me that Tom had a 
really fine nature, and this in the end proved to be 
the case; but I suppose no one who has studied 
the characters of the young will deny that the best 
and strongest characters are sometimes sadly hard 
to understand or deal with, during the period of 
development. They seem set round with angles 
and bristles. There is no getting near them, no 
way of gaining their confidence. They show all 
their bad points, and carefully hide away the good 
that lies beneath, and give to those who love them 
a world of anxiety and fear, which the future 
proves to have been needless. 

So, at least, it was with my first-born. He had 
thoughts and feelings beyond his years, and yet he 
had all the faults of disposition incident to his age 
and. temperament, and just when he most needed 
his father’s counsel and help, his father was taken 
away from him. 

We might have helped and comforted one an- 
other, but it was not to be. Again I had to reap 
that which I had sown. 

Tom had seen, in his boyhood’s years, that I did 
not treat his father with the respect I should have 
done. He knew nothing of the union of soul we 
had enjoyed for the past four years, and he could not 
forget the painful impressions he had received in 




SOWING AND REAPING . 


179 


^his boyhood. He could not render to me the love 
and reverence I had denied to his father, and for 
many years we were strangers in heart to one an- 
other. 

All this I learnt later, when the barrier was at 
last broken down, but at the time I never guessed 
why my son was cold to me, nor realized in full 
measure how inexorably I was reaping the har- 
vest I had sowed. 





CHAPTER XV. 

A SNOWY NIGHT. 

ATTERS were much as I have described 
them between my son and me, when another 
change, which was destined to influence our 
lives, suddenly befell us. 

Summer had passed, and a wet, cheerless autumn 
was merging into a bitter, snowy winter; Harold 
and A rthur were at school, and Tom and the babies 
my companions at home, when suddenly and with- 
out warning a new member was added to our house- 
hold. 

I well remember that day, or rather that night. 
A heavy, silent snow had fallen for many hours, 
and it lay like a pall upon the frosty ground. The 
cold was bitter, and the cruel north-east wind 
seemed to cut the skin from the face of those who 
were bold enough to face it. 

My day had been sadly spent. I was suffering 
intensely from loneliness and a settled discourage- 
ment and depression, almost harder to bear than 
poignant grief. 





A SNOWY NIGHT. 


181 


I told myself in my sadness that my life had been 
one long terrible mistake. I looked back at the 
years of wasted opportunities, and I felt as if the 
burden was greater than I could bear. I had 
scorned my husband, I had neglected my children, 
and alienated their affections. I had no friend at 
hand to help me, no human adviser to whom to 
turn for aid, and in my present dejected state the 
lamp of faith burned but dimly, and it was hard 
to raise my eyes to heaven and draw my comfort 
thence. 

I was suffering both mentally and physically 
from the inevitable seclusion of winter country life. 
Never before had I felt so painfully the isolation 
of Lydgate, for never before had I been without 
the constant companionship of mother or husband, 
with whom I could exchange confidences and talk 
over the little incidents of daily life. 

But Tom was no talker, and did not understand 
the art of making conversation. If he had some- 
thing to say he would say it, if not he would remain 
silent; and lie. very seldom did have much to say 
to me. He knew that once I had thought him 
awkward, stupid, uncouth; and he never could feel 
really at ease in my presence. 

My little children were my great comfort and re- 
source, but even their baby love and sweetness 
could not quite satisfy the craving hunger of my 
soul. I, wan ted something more, some fellowship 


182 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

with one who could enter just a little more into my 
thoughts and needs, some one who had known life 
in its joy and its sorrow, and could give me the 
sympathy of comprehension. 

The desire and craving for this human sympathy 
is implanted in our very nature, and cannot, I think, 
be termed wrong, though there are those who say 
that God’s love, and that alone, should be enough 
for us. It is very true that God can indeed take 
the place, in one sense, of all earthly ties — be 
Father, Husband, Friend, and Brother. But yet 
He has never taught us to undervalue human love 
in its own place ; and we know that our Lord clung 
to human friends during His sad pilgrimage on 
earth, and keenly felt their death or desertion. 

So I was very sad that day ; and as I sat with 
Tom in the drawing-room after dinner, I was con- 
scious that tears were slowly filling my eyes, and 
dropping upon the page I seemed to study. Tom 
observed this presently, and partly out of natural 
horror of tears, partly, no doubt, lest they should 
be a prelude to a conversation such as he dreaded, 
he rose hastily, and with a few muttered words 
about looking at the weather, he quitted the room, 
and even the house, for I heard the door bang 
behind him. 

I do not know how long I was alone before Tom 
came back in a state of unusual excitement. 

“ Mother,” he said, “ I went out, just to see how 






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A SNOWY NIGHT. 


183 


deep the drifts were getting down the drive, when 
I heard a groan, and found a poor creature lying 
half frozen in the snow. I carried her to the house- 
keeper’s room, and she soon came to herself, and 
asked for you — only she called you “ Miss Lovel,” 
till her head got clearer. She says she knew you 
once, and was coming to find you ; but she couldn’t 
tell me who she was or anything about herself till 
she had seen you.” 

I rose at once and followed my impatient son 
from the room, greatly marvelling who this strange 
guest could be. 

“ Is she a lady?” I asked of Tom, as he strode 
on before me. 

“ Yes,” he answered. “ I am sure she is that ; 
although she looks more like a beggar.” 

More and more puzzled, I followed my guide, 
and soon found myself in the cosy housekeeper’s 
room, where I saw the servant bending over an 
attenuated figure upon the couch. At the sound 
of our steps, the prostrate, ragged woman rose 
hastily, and turned a white and shrunken face 
towards me. 

I gave a great cry of suprise. 

“ Geraldine ! ” 

“Kate ! ” she cried, “ Kate ! Kate ! Kate ! ” and 
as I advanced to embrace her, she flung herself 
upon my neck and burst into stormy sobs. 

“ Who is it ? ” I heard Tom whisper to the house- 


184 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


keeper ; but that good woman had not been long 
enough in my service to know anything of my 
cousin Geraldine, whom I had not seen for nearly 
twenty years. 

I held her in my arms and let her sob upon my 
shoulder. I had loved her dearly once ; and time, 
that heals all wounds, does not dull our remem- 
brances of bygone affection. Geraldine was my 
own kin — the only blood-relative I could claim, 
and the old grievance between us belonged to the 
dead past. I pressed kisses upon the thin white 
face, and felt as if it were my sister I welcomed. 
In her sorrow and misery — be the cause what it 
might — she had come to me for help and shelter ; 
was not that reason enough why I should receive 
her as my own ? 

The housekeeper discreetly retired ; but Tom 
stood by, silent and amazed. 

Geraldine’s sobs ceased at last, and she lifted 
herself up and looked at me. 

“ Ah, Kate ! ” she said, 44 you have hardly changed 
in all these years. You are young and beautiful 
still, but I — ah ! what a wreck I am ! ” 

44 Mother,” said Tom, coming one step nearer, 
44 do tell me who it is.” 

We both turned and looked at the tall youth who 
put this half-impatient question. 

46 It is my cousin,” I answered. 44 Mrs. Scrope.” 

Tom was none the wiser. I had never talked of 


A SNOWY NIGHT . 


185 


Geraldine since her marriage, first from pique and 
then from habit. I could now see that my son was 
vexed at not even knowing the name of his mother’s 
cousin. 

Geraldine turned and held out her hand to him 
with her own old winning smile. 

“ Your son, Kate? ” 

“ Yes, my eldest son, Tom.” 

She looked admiringly at his tall, well-knit frame, 
and again she smiled. 

“ You saved my life to night,” she said. u Perhaps 
it was not worth the saving ; but yet I thank you, 
A lonely death upon a freezing snowdrift is not 
one to choose. I saw the lights of your mother’s 
house, and sank down, unable to reach it. But for 
you I should have perished, almost on your thresh- 
old — and I thank you.” 

Tom stood very silent whilst this speech was 
made : hut I saw that the helplessness and misery 
of this kinswoman touched him deeply. He lifted 
her hand to his lips, and then, as if half ashamed 
of such a display of feeling, he let it drop and 
walked hastily away. 

Geraldine looked after him. 

“ Ah ! ” she said with a deep sigh, “ if I had only 
had a son like that ! ” 

“ You have no child ? ” I asked gently. 

“ I have one still living — a daughter. She is in 
France. I could not, arid would not, permit her to 


186 


TUE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


be brought up in her father’s house after she grew 
beyond her childhood. Ah no, Kate ! Ask me no 
questions yet — I am weary and sick and despairing: 
Let me only rest. You shall hear all when I am 
fit to tell my tale.” 

“ My poor, dear child,” I answered, “ come with 
me and rest.” 

I asked her no more questions, but took her up 
to my own room, undressed her myself, and laid 
her in my bed. She was weak and spent almost 
beyond the power of speech, now that the first 
excitement had worn itself out, and her emaciation 
was sad to see. 

My heart overflowed with compassion, and a 
great wave of love and sympathy swept over me 
as I watched my poor cousin, whom last I had seen 
in the flush of her maiden beauty. 

Yes, we had both been gay young girls together, 
and now we were both lonely, stricken women. A 
sense of deep tenderness towards my poor Geraldine 
stole over me. It seemed as though she had been 
sent in my hour of need, as she had come to me in 
hers. I was lonely and sad, she was desolate and 
in misery ; what better could we do than love and 
comfort one another and renew the friendship of 
our youth ? 

As I fed my weary patient with such light food 
as she could take, she looked piteously up into my 
face. 


A SNOWY NIGIIT. 


187 

“ Kate,” she said, “ I behaved badly to you ; have 
you forgiven me ? ” 

“ Oh, hush, darling,” I answered, “ there is noth- 
ing to forgive between friends and cousins.” 

“ Ah, you are so good, so generous, you give me 
courage. You will not turn me out, Kate? You 
will shelter me here awhile ? ” 

There was imploring terror in face and voice. I 
stooped and kissed her. 

“ My home shall be yours so long as ever you 
need it, Geraldine,” I answered. “You have 
claimed my protection and hospitality, and I have 
granted it willingly and joyfully. Lydgate shall 
be your home so long as you stand in need of one, 
and are content to remain here.” 

She looked at me with wide-open eyes, in which 
wonder and relief struggled for mastery. 

“Do you mean it, Kate?” she gasped. Will 
you never turn me out?” 

“Never,” I answered, kissing her again; “I 
promise it, Geraldine.” 

“ Thank God ! Thank God ! ” she cried, and cast 
her arms round my neck, sobbing weakl}~ and un- 
restrainedly. 

She sank to sleep at last, holding my hand. I 
sat watching her thin, white face, wondering about 
her past and forming dim pictures of the future. 

My promise, hastily made and little considered, 
did not trouble me. I could not have done less for 


188 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


one so lonely and desolate, even bad friendship, not 
relationship, bound us together. As the head of 
my family, my duty was to shelter and protect iny 
kinswoman. I had always made up my mind 
rapidly and upon impulse, and I must be pardoned 
in this instance for a precipitancy forced upon me 
as much by circumstances as by natural tendency 
to hasty judgment. 

No misgiving troubled me as to the wisdom of 
the promise I had made. It seemed as if Geraldine 
had come to comfort as well as to be comforted, 
and my heart was full of gratitude that my early 
friend had been restored to me. 

Geraldine was very weak and ill for many days, 
and during those days I gradually learnt her sad 
history. 

Her husband had proved a selfish, heartless 
tyrant, and anything but a kind husband. He had 
been away a great deal on foreign service during 
the first eight years of her married life, and her 
health had obliged her to remain at home, only 
seeing him at intervals, and that for a very brief 
space. 

He then gave up his soldier’s life ; and with his 
abandonment of a career which he had really liked, 
and which had given him congenial occupation for 
body and mind, he seemed to lose all control of 
himself, and to know no restraint to his passions. 

He was wealthy, and they lived in very great 


A SNOWY NIGHT. 


389 


style in the new home ; but he played deep and 
drank deep, and turned his house into a place not 
fit for wife or daughter to visit. 

Geraldine placed her only child under the care 
of some friends in France, for the girl showed in- 
dications of unusual beauty, and she was afraid lest 
her father should find this out, and begin to notice 
the child he had ignored because of her unwelcome 
sex. 

She had been fourteen when sent away, and that 
was nearly three years ago. Her mother had only 
been able to visit her once during that time, for her 
husband grudged every penny not expended on his 
own pleasures. 

The want of an heir embittered him against his 
wife ; and, as unhappiness and care robbed her of 
her beauty, he became more neglectful, and more 
unkind. He openly lamented that he had ever 
married her, and became at last so brutal and so 
unrestrained in his excesses, that the miserable wife 
could bear her life no longer, but fled from her 
wretched home with little money and almost with- 
out clothes, feeling that death by the wayside was 
preferable to such a life as the one she had been 
leading. She almost wished she could lie down 
and die. 

And in her hour of utter, misery she had thought 
of her former" friend, and longed inexpressibly to 
see her once again. She had heard from time to 


190 


TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


time of my affairs. She knew that ^ was now a 
widow, and she believed that I was at Lydgate. 

Nearly two hundred miles lay between her and 
me, and the purse with which she started was 
pitifully light. But Geraldine had a strength and 
courage of her own which could rise on emergency 
to a high pitch. She had resolutely set her face 
westward, and had steadily kept upon her way, 
sometimes driving, sometimes walking, and some- 
times jogging along in a good-natured farmer’s 
cart. 

What a journey for my dainty, beautiful cousin ! 
I could hardly bear to hear her tell the tale. She 
gradually made her way, mile by mile, until upon 
the afternoon of the snowstorm she had but seven 
more to traverse to find herself at her journey’s 
end. She had ascertained that I was living at 
Lydgate. She had learned the shortest way over 
the fields, and, despite the warnings of those who 
predicted snow, she bravely set forward upon the 
seven miles’ walk. 

But she was spent and worn and ill. She had 
eaten little during these days, being unable to pur- 
chase such things as she could take, and her palate 
refusing those that were within her means. When 
the snow came on, it became a life-and-death strug- 
gle, and how it ended -we have just seen. 

“ I nearly died at your door ; *but you have 
brought me to life and given me a home,” she con- 


A SNOWY NIGHT. 


191 


eluded pathetically; “and yet I have no words to 
thank and bless you.” 

And that was the melancholy history of my poor 
cousin Geraldine, as I heard it from her own lips. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

LELIA. 

ERALDINE recovered, after a few days’ 
rest, sufficiently to come downstairs in the 
afternoon, and sometimes to take a little 
airing out of doors, either upon the terrace or in the 
carriage. 

Tom constituted himself champion to our guest. 
He seemed to consider her in a measure his es- 
pecial charge, and she accepted his rather clumsy, 
boyish gallantry with a grace and readiness that he 
found . very flattering. He was always ready to 
offer her his arm when she felt equal to pace the 
terrace or the cloister, always at her disposal to 
drive her in the open carriage when she wished to 
take the air in that way, and indeed he seemed to 
have turned over a new leaf, and developed into 
the complete ladies’ man. 





LELIA. 


193 


I watched the process with amusement. Tom 
was tall enough and .strong enough to rank as a 
man, and he was nearly eighteen ; but he had 
hitherto always been a boy in his aversion to female 
society, and this sudden change marked more than 
anything else the growth of manhood within him. 
I watched him with pleasure and pride. His like- 
ness to his father often struck me forcibly. It was 
increasing with every passing year. 

44 Mother,” he said to me one day in his rather 
abrupt fashion, 44 Mother, ought we not to ask Mrs. 
Scrope’s daughter here to see her at Christmas ? ” 

This idea had onoe crossed my own mind ; but I 
had not expected to hear my son advocate such a 
plan ; rather I had looked for him to oppose it. 

44 Mrs. Scrope often talks about her,” continued 
the lad, 44 and I know she would give anything to 
see her. Her friends are coming over very soon, 
and could bring her daughter. I think she ought 
to be with her mother again.” 

44 1 will think about it, Tom,” I answered. 44 1 
must talk to Mrs. Scrope.” 

But I knew beforehand how the matter would 
end ; and, before two days had passed, a letter was 
on its way to France. 

Geraldine’s joy in the prospect of reunion with 
her child was touching to see. She could not thank 
me enough for my goodness, and I was as pleased 
as she was. The heavy gloom seemed slowly lifting 


194 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

from my heart and my home. I was no longer 
utterly alone. I had my cousin to think for, I had 
her to talk to, to cheer, and to confide in. My son 
was brighter than he had been since his father’s 
death, and now, in* the prospect of my two school- 
boys’ return, and the advent of the young cousin 
from France, this Christmastide, which had prom- 
ised to be so dark, seemed likely to be a season 
of happiness and peace. 

Geraldine had picked up wonderfully since her 
arrival, and there was something extremely capti- 
vating in her fragile beauty. The pallor and emaci- 
ation had passed off, leaving behind a delicacy of 
outline and coloring that was exquisitely lovely. 
It seemed to me that, even in the blush of her 
youthful beauty, Geraldine had never been so fair 
as now. 

And yet my heart often ached as I looked at her. 
There was no rest in the brilliance of the eye, no 
peace in the expression of the features, no indica- 
tion, that I ever saw, which spoke of inward hope 
or faith. 

Since her arrival, Geraldine had never once 
spoken to me on religious subjects. Once when I 
had said something — I know not what — about the 
love of God being a help in trouble, she had said, 
almost sharply, “ Surely, Kate, you have not gone 
and turned saint ? ” 

I suppose something in my face told her that she 


LELIA. 


195 


had hurt me, for she at once recalled the words, 
and never made a similar speech. Moreover, she 
attended family prayers, and read her Bible in the 
morning when I was with her ; but she never said 
a word upon such matters, and avoided any dis- 
cussion with me, if I approached the subject, by 
implicitly agreeing with all I said. 

I was not happy or satisfied about her ; but I was 
learning experience, and hesitated to make any ad- 
vance. I was not responsible for her, as for my 
own children, and I knew that speech is often apt 
to do more harm than good. 

Moreover, Geraldine was so sweet and attractive 
that it was hard to see a fault in her. More win- 
ning ways surely no woman ever possessed. My 
boys had not been twelve hours at home before they 
were the devoted slaves of “Aunt Geraldine,” as 
she taught them to call her, and all three cavaliers 
vied with each other who was to do her most 
homage. 

And a new excitement and attraction were at 
hand in the expected arrival of “ Cousin Lelia,” 
who was to make her appearance the very next 
day. 

It would be quite like a family party, I told my- 
self, and tried to still the aching pain at my heart 
when I thought of the one who had always been at 
my side each Cliristmastide for many long years, 
but who would be with me no more till I could join 


196 the MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

him upon the other side of the dark river of death. 
I could still find happiness in the happiness of 
others ; I told myself so again and again ; and the 
one who was gone would be the first to tell me 
not to mourn as one without hope. 

So I, too, tried to cast my sorrows aside, and to 
enter into the spirit of the joyous season ; and this 
was all the easier to do after the arrival of the 
eagerly expected Lelia. 

How shall I describe that most witching and fas- 
cinating of living creatures, who seemed to me to 
have dropped upon us from another world ? 

Lelia’s beauty was of that peculiar dazzling kind 
most difficult to describe, yet most intensely ap- 
parent to every one about her. Her features were 
not faultless, her complexion was a little too dark 
for ideal beauty, and yet the radiant life that seemed 
to emanate from her, the shining brilliance of her 
glorious eyes, the ceaseless vivacity that surrounded 
her like an atmosphere, gave her a power and a 
magnetic attraction that I have never seen equalled. 

She certainly had the most wonderful eyes, the 
whitest teeth, the sunniest smile that I have ever 
seen. Her grace and rapidity of movement were 
fawnlike in their unfettered freedom. Her laugh 
was like a peal of silver bells ; her voice, with its 
pretty French accent, was music in itself. Alto- 
gether she was a wonderfully charming creature, 
this girl of seventeen, and she won all hearts at 


LELIA. 


197 


Lydgate before she had been six hours within its 
walls. 

A young girl was a novelty there. My little 
Ursula had died before she reached her maidenhood 
and Elizabeth was but a little toddler still. My 
boys flocked round this beautiful young thing, com- 
pletely fascinated by her charms, and she was 
equally pleased to be entertained by them, and 
queened it over them with a serene sense of power 
that was amusing to witness. 

The freedom of my family life was much ap- 
preciated by one brought up to a more formal code, 
and our Christmas passed with a joyousness that 
once I should have deemed impossible. 

I think mine was the only sad heart in all the 
company, for Tom seemed to have forgotten his 
grief in the fascinations of these new relatives ; 
and Geraldine, comforted by the presence of her 
child, ceased to dwell on the troubles of her mar- 
ried life. 

Mr. Scrope made no attempt to recall his wife. 
She wrote to him, at my instigation, to say where 
she was, and to tell him that she proposed paying 
a long visit to her cousin, Mrs. Baskerville. He 
wrote back a few lines, saying that she was wel- 
come to please herself as to her future arrange- 
ments ; but not a word did he vouchsafe as to any 
provision for either wife or child. He seemed 
practically to wish to rid himself of them both. 


/ 


198 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


This correspondence opened my eyes rather more 
fully to the bearing of my own act, in openly 
embracing my cousin’s cause, and offering to share 
my home with her. I did not regret my course of 
action. I did not see that I could have done other- 
wise ; but this plain intimation on the part of her 
husband, that he wished to see her no more, showed 
me that I had undertaken a rather serious respon- 
sibility. 

She was too proud to insist that her husband 
should make her an allowance, and I was as resolute 
as herself upon this point, for my pride of race was 
likewise stirred. She had no kindred to help her, 
save myself, and it became evident that the promise 
I had made of shelter and protection would have 
to be indefinitely extended. 

I was pleased to help and comfort Geraldine in 
her sorrow. I loved her, and I loved her beautiful 
daughter; but yet a certain nameless shrinking 
sometimes came over me when I thought of their 
being enrolled as permanent inmates of Lydgate. 

For it very soon became self-evident that the 
asylum that I had offered to the mother must be 
shared by the daughter. 

It was Tom who first openly broached this sub- 
ject, and brought it before my notice 

“ Mother,” he said one day, soon after the new 
year had come in, “ don’t you think Aunt Geral- 
dine and Lelia ought to have their own suite of 


LELIA. 


199 


apartments, and all that sort of thing ? Lelia wants 
to go on with her harp and piano practice, and her 
painting and embroidery, and she ought to have 
a room of her own. Lydgate is quite large 
enough.” 

“ Is Lelia not going back to France ? ” I asked, 
for I had not fully entered into the future arrange- 
ments respecting my young cousin. 

“ Oh, no ! ” Tom answered quickly, “ those peo- 
ple are not going back, and she would hate to leave 
us now, she is so happy here. Besides, Aunt 
Geraldine is going to live here, so of course Lelia 
must too ; there isn’t any other way.” 

“ No,” I answered slowly, “ I suppose not.” 

Tom looked rather vexed. 

“ You talk as if you did not like to have Lelia 
here,” he said, with a curious gleam ;n his ey 

“ Not at all. I love Lelia dearly,” I answered 
quietly ; “ but matters like these require too much 
thought to be treated lightly by us elders.” 

His face cleared a little. 

“ May I tell Lelia that she is to stay always ? ” 

“Does she not know?” 

“ I’m not sure. She said she did not know what 
was going to become of her. Sometimes she is 
very sad for a little while, though she does seem so, 
happy and bright. She has a great deal of feeling^ 
though she does not always show it. She will bo 
so glad that she is to stay here always,” 


200 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

This was a long speech for Tom to make, and I 
could not help smiling. 

u Always is .a long day,” I answered. “ Lelia 
would laugh to hear it applied to her stay here.” 

He turned round quickly. 

u What do you mean, mother? You will not turn 
her out?” 

“ Certainly not. It is Lelia herself who will take 
flight some day.” 

His face expressed some strong emotion, which I 
took for mystification. Tom’s wits were not re- 
nowned for sharpness, and I smiled inwardly as I 
hastened to make my meaning more plain. 

“ Lelia is very beautiful and attractive. People 
will soon find that out. Lelia will most likely be 
married before many years have passed.” 

Tom’s face flushed suddenly crimson ; he turned 
and walked away without a word, closing the door 
sharply behind him. 

I sat lost in thought, suddenly startled by the 
conviction that my son was no longer a boy, but a 
man, and with all a man’s troubles and joys rising 
up in his path. There was no mistaking that look 
upon his face. He had already looked upon Lelia 
as the woman he hoped in time to make his wife. 
I was as certain of it as if he had taken me into his 
confidence. 

Strange to say, this possibility had never seri- 
ously occurred to me, even when I had pictured 


LELIA. 


201 


Lelia as a frequent guest. Mothers are slow to 
realize the developement of their children, and Tom 
was not quite eighteen. But he was growing more 
the man month by month, and many lads fall under 
the influence of love’s young dream before they are 
any older than my poor Tom. 

I wished now that I could make different ar- 
rangements for Geraldine and Lelia ; but I could 
not see my way at present to change my plans. 
Perhaps something in the future might be settled, 
but for a time matters must remain on their present 
footing. 

I faced the question thoroughly, and failed to 
see any real reason why my son should not marry 
this cousin if they really loved one another. 

After my own experiences of life, I was quite re- 
solved not to stand in the way of a real and deep 
affection. I felt convinced that I could easily 
detect the true from the false, after the bitter 
lesson I had learnt, and I determined that no act 
of mine should ever stand between my children and 
their best and truest happiness. 

Just as I had reached this point in my medita- 
tions my door was softly opened, and Lelia was 
kneeling at my feet. 

“ Ah, dear Aunt Kate ! dear Aunt Kate ! ” she 
cried, her radiant face sparkling betwixt smiles 
and tears, “ how very, very good you are to me ! 
How can I ever thank you ? ” 


202 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


“ By being always a good and happy girl, my 
love,” I answered; “and may we succeed in keepr 
ing you as happy as you have been heretofore ! ” 

u You are so good to me,” cried Lelia, kissing my 
hands in her pre tty ,, effusive fashion. “Will you 
let me try to be a daughter to you, dear Aunt 
Kate? I never can thank you for all your good- 
ness to us, but if ever I can be the least help or 
comfort to you — ah, you cannot guess how happy 
it would make me ! ” 

I kissed and caressed the warm-hearted girl, and 
my anxious fears fled. If my boy must love and 
wed, could he find a lovelier or more gentle wife 
than our sweet Lelia ? 

And they were children still, and she had no 
thought for him beyond a cousinly affection. It 
was evident to me in every word and look, as we 
talked together, that no dim foreshadowing of the 
possible future lay across her path, as it did across 
that of my son. She was a child in heart and 
spirit, and I prayed that she might long continue 
so. 

I held a serious consultation with Geraldine, 
who overwhelmed me with gratitude for thus ex- 
tending my hospitality to her child, and we made 
definite arrangements for the accommodation of 
mother and daughter in a vacant wing, where they 
could enjoy a certain amount of independence and 


LELIA . 203 

freedom, whilst still feeling themselves members 
of the household. 

Arrangements for finishing Lelia’s education 
were made, as well as the seclusion of our house 
would permit, and under these auspices Mrs. 
Scrope and her only child took up their abode at 
Lydgate. 




CHAPTER XVII. 

A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD. 

ND what shall I say of the years that fob 
lowed after the admission of these rela- 
tives as members of my household ? 

I find it difficult even now, after the long lapse 
of time, to see the full bearing of events, or to 
make out with any certainty how much was acci- 
dent, and how much design, in what followed. I 
can but relate things as they appeared at the time, 
and try not to be unjust to any, or to condemn too 
hastily. 

I hardly know how long it was before I began 
to awake to a sense of what was passing. I am 
not by nature of a suspicious or jealous tempera- 
ment. My faults lie in a different direction. I 
think more than a year had passed, possibly even 
two, before I began to see that we were a divided 
household, and that I was not really the head. 

How can I describe the state of things ? — a state 




A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD. 


205 


which was nominally one thing, but really an- 
other. My authority was never openly disputed ; 
but I frequently found that my son held different 
views from myself, and then, after a brief consul- 
tation, I often gave way to him, and allowed mat- 
ters to be conducted according to his fancy. *1 
was always wishful for him to assume the position 
of head of the house, and was perhaps disposed to 
give way to him a little more than was quite wise, 
in order that he should really feel that he did, in a 
measure, stand in his father’s place. 

But by gradual, slow degrees I began to see 
that it was not to Tom that I was giving way, but 
to my cousin Geraldine. She and her daughter 
exercised over Tom and his brothers an influence 
beyond what I was able to acquire, and at last I 
began to feel like one standing alone in the midst 
of a hostile camp, conscious that in some subtle, 
undefinable way everybody was against me — not 
ostensibly, but in a fashion almost harder to bear 
than open defiance. 

I do not wish to think or speak harshly of Ger- 
aldine. I forgave her on her death -bed for the harm 
she then admitted having done, and I never think 
she fully understood the bearing of the influence she 
exerted over my boys. Even when she confessed to 
me, with tears and deep remorse, the treacherous 
part she had played, I do not think she was fully 
able to appreciate the pain lie had given me. 


206 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


Geraldine’s master passion, from youth upwards, 
had been to rule, to subjugate, to win the hearts 
of all about her — that is, of all the men of her own 
rank in life. I do not say it unkindly. It was as 
much the fault of her training as of anything else, 
and she had no strong principle to enable her to 
conquer the faults of her nature. 

She had now lived out the romance of her life, 
and had been cruelly treated at the hands of for- 
tune ; but suffering had not brought her to her 
Saviour’s feet, and she still sought distraction in 
the old paths of pleasure so familiar to her. 

She no longer, of course, sought to find lovers, 
and play with their hearts in her old, unthinking 
fashion, but she liked to feel her power oyer my 
three handsome lads, and she was pleased to find 
how easily they were won by her soft flatteries 
and injudicious praise, and how they one and all 
adored their beautiful cousin Lelia. 

When the younger boys were at home Geral- 
dine’s boudoir was a sort of reception-room, where 
they were always to be found, unless they were 
attending Lelia in her walks or rides. 

The girl grew more brilliantly beautiful every 
year, and I could not wonder that my sons were 
enamored of her society. 

There was nothing to hurt them in all this, if 
matters had simply ended with their love towards 


A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD . 207 

the so-called aunt and cousin ; but there was more 
than that behind. 

I began to find that in proportion as my boys 
sought the society of these relatives, so they grew 
indifferent towards me, and neglected me with an 
unconscious indifference that was sometimes almost 
more than I could bear. 

But there was even worse to come ; for I began 
to be aware at last that a sort of conspiracy was 
going on in the house, and a regime being insti- 
tuted, from which I was purposely excluded. 

I discovered quite by accident that regular card- 
playing was going on day by day in Geraldine’s 
rooms, and that my boys were learning to gamble 
at her table, without a thought that there could 
be any harm in doing what Aunt Geraldine and 
Cousin Lelia approved. 

My husband had seen enough of its dangers to 
be a very strict opponent of all sorts of play, and 
it had always been a rule in his house that no game 
should ever be played for any stake, however 
trifling. 

Tom was quite old enough to remember this pro- 
hibition, even if the younger boys did not ; and it 
was with a keen sense of pain that I found out 
what was going on around me. 

I think it was this discovery that first roused me 
to the true state of my household. That play 
should have been going on regularly in my house 


208 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


without my knowledge showed me that some 
amongst the players knew that they were acting 
wrongly, and that I was regarded with a certain 
mixture of awe and distrust, infinitely painful to 
experience. 

But what startled me most was my utter inability 
to put a stop to what was going on. Geraldine 
laughed gayly, and fenced and argued with a facile 
fluency that disconcerted without convincing me. 
She could not be made to see that she had acted in 
any way treacherously or wrongly towards me and 
mine. She laughed more and more at the absurdity 
of such an idea. The poor dear boys were moped 
to death in this dull old house, she told me ; in 
sheer charity she had been obliged to devise some- 
thing to amuse them. And as for the formation 
of dangerous habits, Geraldine was more than ever 
amused at such a suggestion. 

“ My dear Kate,” she said, in her patronizing 
way, which I confess I found very trying to sub- 
mit to, u you are very good — rather too good to 
bring up a family of boys — but you are not very 
wise, and you know about as much of the world as 
your little Elizabeth does. If you think high- 
spirited boys like yours \yill be tied all their life 
long to your apron-strings, or be fettered in their 
ways of thinking by their father’s prejudices, you 
are greatly mistaken. They will think for them- 
selves, and act for themselves, whether you like it 


A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD. 


209 


or not ; and you have more reason to thank me for 
giving them elementary lessons in some of the 
ways of the world than to blame me for teaching 
them what you so despise. The training I am 
giving them will save them from much trouble and 
loss at the hands of card-sharpers and clever 
players. I will turn them out fit to hold their own 
in any company. You home-bred mothers do not 
think of that. You send your boys out as lambs in 
the midst of wolves, and then wonder to see them 
devoured. You should give them the wolf’s skin, 
fair cousin, and then you would see them let 
alone.” 

The sophistry of this argument, and the cool 
tone of superiority, angered me greatly; but I had 
learnt control of myself in those days, and I knew 
better than to injure my cause by hasty words. 
My husband had taught me to pray silently for 
help in such moments as these, and after a brief 
struggle I was able to answer calmly : 

“ What I have striven to give my bo}^s is the 
armor of God — that, and that only, will save them 
from the weapons of the enemy. You know best, 
Geraldine, whether you have helped or hindered 
me in my attempt to teach them where alone can 
true strength be found.” 

Geraldine laughed constrainedly. 

“ My dear cousin, we all know that you are pain- 
fully devote , as Lelia calls it, and we respect you 


210 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


for it; but we cannot all emulate you in your pur- 
suit of holiness. I never was religious save at odd 
moments, and Lelia takes after me. As for your 
boys, they are perfectly delightful, and as good as 
ever they need be; but as for looking for religious 
fervor in them at their age ! — they are very good 
boys in their way, but it is ridiculous to expect 
them to be youthful saints. They would be good 
for nothing if they were. It is all very well to go 
in for that sort of thing later, but it is absurd and 
offensive at their time of life.” 

That was the substance of what I gleaned from 
my cousin. My boys were even harder to deal 
with. They sheltered themselves behind the 
axioms laid down by “ Aunt Geraldine,” quoted her 
as an oracle, took it for granted that all she taught 
must be right ; and finally, on my making some 
appeal to their sense of obedience, Arthur turned 
upon me with a sort of boyish insolence and 
asked — 

“ How can we tell who is right? You say one 
thing and Aunt Geraldine says another. You 
can’t both be right. Aunt Geraldine has seen a 
great deal more of life than you have — you have 
often said so yourself ; why should you be right 
and she be wrong ? Isn’t it quite as likely to be the 
other way?” 

Argument was useless, and my authority was not 
regarded. I do not say that I could not have 


A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD. 


211 


stopped what was going on if I had made a deter- 
mined effort to do so ; but I saw that matters had 
got beyond me, and that obedience to the letter 
would but strengthen the opposition in spirit. 
Very bitterly did I feel my loneliness and weak- 
ness, and only in deep and earnest prayer for my- 
self and my children could I find any help and com- 
fort in my distress and anguish of spirit. 

And just in my hour of sorest need I did receive 
a portion of the human help and sympathy which I 
so sadly craved. 

One day, just at this time, I was told that a 
gentleman, who had not given his name, was wait- 
ing to see me in the drawing-room. 

I went down, and found myself face to face with 
my old friend Captain (now Colonel) Lyon. 

We were both changed — both aged. His hair, 
like mine, was growing gray, and the wrinkles on 
his weather-beaten face gave him the appearance 
of being older than he was ; but his genial nature 
had not been warped by any of the reverses he had 
suffered, and his warm-hearted greeting brought me 
no little comfort. 

He had sought me out for many causes. He had 
a great wish to see me again, and to offer his con- 
dolences for the losses I had suffered in my family, 
of which he had heard from time to time ; and 
more especially he had come to tell me that he had 
just exchanged commands with a brother officer, 


212 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


and was now the colonel of the regiment Harold 
was just about to enter, and he wished to assure 
me that he would have a special eye to the welfare 
of the lad. 

This was an immense relief to me, for Harold 
was the boy about whom I was most anxious. He 
was so high-spirited and self-willed that I had never 
had much control over him, and his handsome face 
and dashing air were likely to give him a danger- 
ous popularity wherever he went. 

Colonel Lyon was staying in the neighborhood, 
and we. saw a good deal of him. His genial ways 
and hearty manner won the affection of the boys 
very quickly, and Harold especially became much 
attached to him, and followed him about whenever 
he could do so, talking of his future prospects and 
the career that lay before him in the army. 

This friendship gave me much satisfaction, and 
the Colonel and I became very intimate as the days 
passed on, and old ties seemed renewed. 

I told him a good deal of my past life, and one 
day, in a moment of unusual confidence, I talked 
to him of the boys, and of the anxiety I suffered on 
their account I could not tell all the tale. I could 
not speak of the influence exerted by Geraldine in 
a direction contrary to my wishes, but I could im- 
part to him a great deal, and his own shrewd 
observation had mastered more than I then knew. 

“My dear madam,” he answered me, pulling the 


A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD. 


213 


long gray mustache that in those days was distinc- 
tively military, “ your position is a trying one — I 
have seen it. I always think it a hard thing 
for a mother to be left with a family of sons 
growing up, without a father’s strong hand over 
them. But believe me, Mrs. Baskerville, those 
lads of yours — and I have studied them somewhat 
closely — are very good, warm-hearted lads ; they 
love you far better than you know, and one of 
these days, when the stage of boyish reserve and 
shyness has passed, and when occasion calls for it, 
they will show a wealth of love which will quite 
surprise you.” 

The tears started to my eyes at the sound of these 
welcome words. My friend looked away, and con- 
tinued : 

“ They seem to you to lavish all their affections 
on Mrs. Scrope, who spoils and flatters them. It 
is true that they find her room a very agreeable 
place of resort, and her honeyed words very sweet; 
but do they really give her the respect that they have 
for their mother ? Not a bit of it ! Those boys 
are at the restive age, as I call it. They chafe at 
the bit, and seem to rebel against the hand that 
holds the reins. But go down deeper than appear- 
ances, and look into their hearts. What do you 
find there ? Why, a very loyal love and respect 
for the very parent against whose quiet authority 
they seem to chafe so vehemently. Madam, I 


214 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


have talked to all those boys. They have told me 
more than they knew. They have a deeper rever- 
ence for the quiet mother, who has been as father 
and mother both, ever since their father's death, 
than they are at all aware of. One soon finds out 
so much, when a little talk brings out the real 
nature of their thoughts, and not the little surface 
angularities and roughnesses.” 

I wiped my tears away, and answered : 

“ You are very good, Colonel Lyon, to give me 
such comfort.” 

“ Tut ! tut ! my dear madam, you must not give 
way to despondency. Don’t you know what con- 
trary young rascals bids are from boyhood to man- 
hood ? You never had any brothers, so preliminary 
experience was lacking in your case; but I do as- 
sure you that it is a way with boys to show 
themselves at their very worst to those whom they 
really love the best. It is an odd development of 
the contrariety natural to man ; but I can prophesy 
without any misgivings that in the case of your 
, sons, their esteem and love lie beneath the surface, 
and only require wakening into activity by the 
exigencies of life.” 

So Colonel Lyon strengthened and comforted 
me, and I thanked God for sending this friend just 
when I stood so much in need of encouragement. 

I took heart again, and went quietly on my way, 
and did not allow myself to be discouraged by the 


A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD , 


215 


outward lack of affection on the part of my sons. 
When inclined to be despondent, I recalled with a 
thrill of pleasure the Coloners parting words : 

64 When good seed has been sown steadily by a 
mother’s hand, watered by her tears, and fertilized 
by her prayers, be sure that it will spring up into 
life before very many years pass away. Do not be 
discouraged if outward signs of growth be wanting. 
Possibly this may be caused by the deeper striking 
downwards of the roots. The harvest may be the 
more abundant for the very slowness of germination 
in the seed.” 

So I took courage and waited, and I did not 
allow myself to show by look or word the pain I 
oft-times suffered. I prayed unceasingly for all 
the members of my household, and I tried to 
drive doubt and despondency from my heart. 

My little twin children were my sweetest treas- 
ures. Nothing shook their intense allegiance to 
me. They loved their beautiful Aunt Geraldine, 
and the brilliant, sparkling Lelia ; but their baby 
hearts were all mine, and I derived an intense 
happiness from instilling in these tender natures 
the teaching that I had never bestowed in former 
times upon my little ones. 

These twins much resembled one another, and 
they were more like Ursula than any of my other 
children had been. Little Elizabeth, with her 
earnest eyes and baby thoughtfulness, often made 


216 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

me think of the sister she only knew by name ; 
and both these children, from being so much with 
me perhaps, showed an early devotion and piety 
which was very precious to my lonely heart. 

Geraldine called them “ dreadful children,” and 
declared I should pray them into an early grave, 
if I made them so unnaturally good ; but I failed 
to see anything unnatural in them. They were a 
rosy, merry pair, as fond of play as a couple of 
kittens, and giving way to an ecstasy of mirth when 
rolling over and over upon the nursery rug. But 
Geraldine never visited the nursery. She was not 
fond of babies, and she seldom saw them except 
at bed-time, when they were brought to me in their 
little dressing-gowns to say good-night, and to lisp 
their little prayers at my knee. 

Geraldine was sometimes in my room at this 
hour, and would affect a sort of dismay at the 
questions which occasionally the baby lips would 
propound ; but I saw nothing strange or unnatural 
in them, and in our divided household my darling 
little children were my deepest source of delight. 

If we had no such moments of refreshment, life 
would be but a sad pilgrimage. Never a day passed 
but that I thanked God, with full heart, for giving 
me my little twin children to train up for Him, and 
prayed that I might do it aright. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

CHANGES. 

OME people may wonder, perhaps, why my 
cousin Geraldine still remained a member 
of my household, after what I have related 
in the previous chapter. 

I did suffer many misgivings on the subject, but 
I remembered the promise I had made, and felt 
unable to turn her, homeless, into a cold world, at 
whose hands she had already endured much misery. 
Besides this, my boys were very little at home just 
now, except Tom, and I knew quite well by this 
time that banishing Geraldine and Lelia would 
never keep him away from them. He would only 
resent the affront most bitterly, and make himself 
their champion. Such a step would rather increase 
than lessen their influence upon him, whilst it 
would inevitably raise a barrier between his mother 
and himself. 




218 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


Moreover, Tom was developing interests in other 
directions. He had been to London a year or two 
back, to witness the young queen’s coronation, and 
lie had repeated his visit each year since, and was 
now full of talk about the royal marriage which 
had lately been celebrated. He was beginning to 
take an active interest in politics, and sometimes 
expressed a hope that he might some day sit in 
Parliament. I was always glad to hear him talk 
in this vein, and encouraged him in those studies 
which occupied his mind in any healthy fashion, 
and kept him a little out of the way of his fasci- 
nating cousin Lelia. 

For my heart often ached for my boy in those 
days. I could see that Lelia was to him his very 
star and light of life. Each month that passed 
found him more and more subdued by the beauty 
and witchery of the lovely girl; each day seemed 
to rivet his bonds more firmly. 

To me, I must confess, the charm of Lelia’s face 
did not increase with increasing familiarity, nor did 
her ever-flowing vivacity altogether please or 
satisfy me. I wearied sometimes of the perpetual 
silvery laugh, the never-ceasing flow of words, and 
the childish fits of petulance and temper, more 
assumed than real, by which Lelia teased my poor 
boy occasionally almost to desperation. 

I saw so very well that what was the deepest 
earnest with him was but play to her. She could 


CHANGES. 


219 


not in the least understand a nature like his. 
There were depths beneath Tom’s somewhat heavy 
exterior that her brilliant wit could never fathom. 
She laughed at his boyish awkwardness, little 
knowing how greatly her superior he really was ; 
and I was perfectly well aware that the love so 
deeply implanted in his nature found no smallest 
response in hers. She liked him, and in our solitary 
life he amused her, and was useful to her ; but as 
for any deeper feeling, I was certain it did not 
exist. 

In due course Tom came of age, and his majority 
was celebrated at the Mount, with a good deal of 
display and merry-making. We all migrated there 
for a time, and enjoyed the change ; for the house 
had been let ever since my husband’s death, and I 
had not even seen it for several years. 

Geraldine and Lelia came with us. Harold 
joined us, and could not say enough in praise of 
the soldier’s life upon which he had lately entered, 
nor of Colonel Lyon's judicious kindness to him. 
Harold was much improved by his year of mili- 
tary discipline, and treated me with an affection 
and respect very different from anything I had been 
used to from my high-spirited boys. Perhaps his 
colonel’s influence might be traced in this, but at 
any rate the change was very welcome. 

Arthur, my clever boy, was still at school, win- 
ning his laurels there very fast, and bent on going 


220 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


to Oxford, as soon as ever he should be of suitable 
age. lie meant to get a Balliol Scholarship, if pos- 
sible, and did so a little later. He came home for 
a few days to celebrate his brother’s majority ; and 
both he and Harold were so tall, and handsome, 
and manly, that it was difficult to believe how 
young they still were in reality. 

We had a very gay time, which I need not de- 
scribe, and then, after a few days’ festivity, our 
guests left us, and we settled down to spend the 
summer at the Mount — now my son’s inheritance, 
and of which he assumed complete control. 

I was pleased to see the manly and self-reliant 
way in which he accepted the responsibilities of 
the position, without bravado or ostentation, and 
equally without fear or faltering. 

He made himself master of all the details of the 
property, and was soon respected and obeyed by 
every one upon the place. He grew more like his 
father each year, I thought, and I watched him 
with pride and pleasure, mingled with a sense of 
sorrow that my husband could not see how well he 
filled his position. 

His manner towards me, in his own house, was 
more considerate and attentive than of old. He 
began to show some small indications of a wish to 
be more to me than he had been, and each of these 
indications, however awkwardly advanced, was 
hailed both with joy and thankfulness. 


CHANGES . 


221 


But there were developments in other directions 
that gave me much anxiety. The way in which 
he consulted Lelia as to every proposed change in 
house or grounds, and the readiness with which 
she gave advice, seemed to indicate a mutual un- 
derstanding beyond the mere ostensible cousinship. 
I fancied, too, that Geraldine looked on with com- 
placency at this intimacy, and settled herself down 
at the Mount almost as if she looked upon it as a 
home. 

Poor Geraldine ! Why should I blame her if 
she did countenance a marriage which should give 
her a settled and comfortable home ? Living in a 
measure upon a cousin’s charity could not be an 
enviable existence. 

I was not in any way set against a marriage be- 
tween Lelia and Tom. I had faced that possibility 
for long, and had made up my mind to allow the 
young people to settle matters for themselves ; but 
what I did greatly dread was an unequal match, 
with devoted love on one side, and on the other only 
a cool liking, combined with desire fora wealth and 
position. 

I had married without love, and had given much 
pain to my husband. Was Tom destined to meet 
a similar fate? And would Lelia ever learn to 
love him, as I had learnt to love my husband ? 
Sometimes I feared that hers was one of those 
natures to which a deep love was impossible ; but 


222 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


I tried not to judge. Might not the same have 
been said of me at her age ? 

But whilst L was every week expecting to hear 
of an engagement, a new phase came over our 
affairs, and changed their current not a little. 

One day, to my great surprise, I was told that 
Henry Scrope had arrived at the Mount an hour 
before, and was waiting to know if I would grant 
him an audience. Neither Mrs. Scrope nor her 
daughter were aware of his proximity. He wished 
it kept a secret. 

I had not seen Henry Scrope for more than 
twenty years, and I could not imagine what his 
errand could be: but, as it might be for Geraldine’s 
good, I consented to see him, in the small drawing- 
room reserved to my use. 

In five minutes he made his entrance. He had 
not aged very much in appearance. He was still 
a handsome man, with an elegance of figure and 
dress not easily rivalled. But his face was un- 
doubtedly the face of a dissipated, hard-living 
man. The bold eyes had an insolence in their 
glance which had become fixed there, beyond the 
power of remedy. Lines furrowed the face that 
had not been traced by thought or study. Henry 
Scrope looked what he was, a selfish, self-indulg- 
ent, reckless man, who lived only for pleasure, and 
cared only for the things of this present life. 


CHANGES. 223 

His first words showed a callous insolence which 
startled me not a little. 

“ Jove — Kate ! ” he exclaimed on seeing me, 
“ why, you’re handsomer than ever ! ” 

I stopped short at hearing myself thus addressed, 
and did not give him my hand, as I had at first in- 
tended. I bowed coldly, shuddering inwardly at 
the thought — “ That man might have been my hus- 
band ! ” 

“I believe, Mr. Scrope, that you wished to see 
me,” I said coldly. 

My tone seemed to recall him to himself. He 
pulled himself up and replied with more propriety 
of manner : 

“I did, Mrs. Baskerville. I came to request 
your good offices between me and my wife. I be- 
lieve Geraldine is with you still.” 

I bent my head in assent. 

“ And Lelia too ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And is she a beauty ? I have heard that she 
combines in her person all the graces of father 
and mother. Gad ! She must be worth looking 
at if that is the case ! ” 

“ Lelia is very handsome,” I answered coldly. 

He stopped short and said suddenly, and in a 
different tone, “ My son by my first wife is dead. 
Did you know ? ” 

“ No, I had not heard.” 


224 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


“ I have known for years he could not live. 
He had an incurable malady, and I always hoped 
Geraldine would give me a son ; but she did not. 
Lelia, however, can inherit my property. I think 
it is time we were reconciled.” 

“ And you wish me to say this to Geraldine ?” 

“ Yes. Tell her I am tired of living alone, and 
that it’s ridiculous going on like this. We’re 
growing old now, and shall not be quite so pep- 
pery. I’m willing to admit my faults, if she’ll be 
equally frank. She can’t like living on charity 
forever. Tell her she’d better see me, and try 
if we can’t make some amicable arrangement 
between us.” 

“ I will tell Geraldine that you are here, and ask 
her if it will be agreeable to her to see you,” I 
answered. 

He laughed sardonically. 

“Now don’t you go and try to set her against 
me, my good madam ; I am sure you must see 
what an undesirable thing it is for husband and 
wife to live at variance. If you are as religious as 
is said, you ought to be delighted at this opportu- 
nity of turning peace-maker.” 

His tone angered me. There was an insolent 
familiarity about his manner very repellant. In 
my secret heart I pitied Geraldine deeply. I 
know that duty might point towards a reconcilia- 
tion ; but what a husband that man would make ! 


CHANGES. 225 

What ought I do or say, or to refrain from saying, 
on such a subject ? 

“ You shall arrange matters yourself with Ger- 
aldine, if she will see you,” I answered coldly. 
“ I never interfere between husband and wife.” 

As I turned to leave the room I heard a short, 
insolent laugh and muttered words : 

“ Gad ! if she isn’t jSalous of me still ! ” 

I subdued my indignation as well as I could, 
and went to find my cousin. I expected that my 
news would cause her much trouble and disturb- 
ance of mind, and that she would find it a difficult 
matter to bring herself to face the husband from 
whose home she had been compelled to flee ; but, 
instead of that, the moment she heard that he was 
in the house, she sprang up and ran to the nearest 
mirror. 

u Henry here ! Dear me, how very amusing ! 
So I have brought him to his bearings at last, have 
I ? How do I look ? Yes, I certainly have very 
much improved since I came to you. This new 
style of hair-dressing improves me ; and I like this 
dress better than any I have. I will go down at 
once. Just fancy Henry’s having been the first to 
make the advance ! I shall be able to ride the 
high horse now ! ” 

Geraldine had gone even before she had finished 
speaking, and I was left alone, decidedly aghast at 
the rapidity with which events were moving. 


226 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

Poor flighty Geraldine ! Impressions were but 
transient with her. The deepest that had ever 
been made — that of her husband’s faithless cruelty 
— had not lasted long ; and now she was ready to 
forget all, in the pleasure of a little excitement 
and novelty. Glad as I was, in many ways, that 
husband and wife should be reconciled, I could 
not but wish that there should be at least real sor- 
row — true repentance on the one side, and Chris- 
tian forgiveness on the other — that the arrange- 
ment should be brought about by other influences 
than any that I had seen at work so far. If there 
had been good cause for this long separation — as I 
feared there had — there should be more to be said 
than anything Henry Scrope seemed likely to say, 
before his wife and daughter could well consent to 
live once more under his roof. 

Some such thoughts as these found their way 
into my mind, as I waited to learn the result of 
the interview going on downstairs. I hoped I 
was not uncharitable ; but I could not trust Henry 
Scrope. 

I had not to wait very long in doubt. Geral- 
dine came running back shortly, her face quite 
aglow with pleasurable excitement. 

“ Oh, yes, it is all right. We have made it up ; 
and Henry is going to take us home to-morrow. 
Lelia is with him, and he is charmed with her. 
There will be no more trouble now, and we do not 


CHANGES, 


227 


mean to have any more quarrels. We are both 
tired to death of living in this way. I don’t mean 
anything ungrateful to you, dearest Kate ; but of 
course one’s home and one’s husband must come 
first, and we are going to turn over a new leaf. 
Henry really can be very nice when he likes, and 
he is quite handsome and young-looking still. He 
says I am the same, and there is no reason why 
we should not be very happy together.” 

46 1 hope not,” I answered, adding, after a mo- 
ment’s hesitation, 44 You told me, when you came 
here, that the company your husband kept was not 
fit for Lelia to see or mix in. Have you ascer- 
tained, before taking her back, that matters will 
be improved in that respect ? ” 

4t Oh, yes!” answered Geraldine, quickly. 
44 Henry says he really can’t afford to keep such 
an establishment as before, and entertain so much; 
besides, he found it did not answer in the long-run 
to be so careless of the reputation of his house. 
We are going to live quite soberly now, and give 
up all Henry’s wild friends, and settle down in 
better style altogether.” 

I suppose I still looked grave, for this careless 
talk struck me somewhat painfully. 

44 Don’t be afraid for Lelia,” she said. 44 1 shall 
take good care of her. Besides, she will never be 
long with us. She is sure to marry quickly. In- 
deed, that is part of the plan.” 


228 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


“What plan?” 

“ Oh, the whole thing for getting Henry rein- 
stated as one of the leading and respected men of 
the county. We haye several aristocratic fami- 
lies round, and several unmarried eldest sons. I 
always set my heart on making a good match for 
Lelia.” 

I suppose my face must have betrayed some of 
my feelings, for Geraldine continued quickly : 

“ Of course, I am sorry for poor Tom ; but you 
know a boy must go through it, like measles, and 
the younger they take it the better. He will soon 
get over it, and of course I must do my best for 
Lelia — it is a mother’s first duty.” 

I commanded my voice to say quietly: 

“ I fancied you were more in favor of Tom’s 
evident views than I was myself. You have always 
seemed to me to encourage him.” 

Geraldine laughed lightly. 

“ Circumstances alter cases, my good Kate. So 
long as I was situated in my past awkward posi- 
tion, and my poor child so cramped in her chance 
of all choice, I was glad enough to secure for her 
so good a match as your son. But you must of 
course be aware that poor, dear Tom is no fit mate 
for my matchless Lelia. He is a good, steady lad 
as ever breathed, but such a clod ! Of course, my 
plain duty, as her mother, is to give her such oppor- 
tunities as I can.” 


CHANGES. 


229 


Human nature is sadly contrary. I did not 
think that a marriage between Lelia and Tom 
would prove happy ; and yet my heart rose in 
revolt when I heard Geraldine’s words. Yet I saw 
it was hopeless to reason with her, or even to say 
a single word of Remonstrance. She was acting 
according to the dictates of her nature. She did 
not in the least appreciate how sordid and mean 
her actions and purposes seemed to others. She 
took a perfectly different standpoint from mine on 
all such questions, and I knew by long experience 
that argument was useless. 

It is one of the hardest lessons of life, learning 
to tolerate in others views that we ourselves know 
or think to be utterly wrong. The young cannot 
do it. They must argue and fight and perhaps 
quarrel hopelessly, but they cannot agree to differ. 
Life teaches us that hard lesson, and as we in- 
crease in wisdom, we learn to give up trying to 
rule the world by our own theories, and endeavor 
to bring good out of evil wherever we can ; but in 
those cases where we are helpless to mend mat- 
ters, then we quietly let them alone, and try to 
think kindly and charitably of people who will not 
and cannot look at life as we do. 

So Geraldine and I parted as friends. We had 
stood the test of constant intercourse for several 
years in somewhat exceptional circumstances, and 
had not grown cold towards one another, in spite 


230 


MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


of great differences of thought and feeling. We 
parted with affection on both sides, and I was 
able without insincerity to say that I should miss 
mother and daughter somewhat sadly from my 
daily life. 

I was most afraid, however, /or Tom; and his 
cheerful serenity surprised and puzzled me. 

As we sat together alone in the large room upon 
the first evening after the departure of our guests, 
I could not forbear asking: 

“ Will you not miss Lelia very much?”" 

“ Of course I shall,” he answered readily. “ I 
miss her every hour of the day ; but then it will 
not be for very long, and that helps me.” 

“ What do you mean, Tom ? I do not under- 
stand.” 

“ I mean that she will soon be back, and so I can 
wait patiently.” 

“ Do you mean that Lelia will come back to live 
with us again ? ” 

“I mean that I shall soon bring her to the Mount 
as my wife,” answered Tom, proudly. “ As soon 
as ever I am a little older I shall claim her, and 
until that time we shall have letters to live upon.” 

He looked so confident that I was staggered for 
a moment. 

“ Do you mean, Tom, that you and Lelia are 
already engaged ? ” 

“ I do not exactly think it amounts to that, but 


CHANGES . 


231 


it is really the same thing. She has promised to 
write and never to forget me, and she knows that 
I love her with all my heart, and mean soon to 
marry her. I have told her so often, and she 
always seemed pleased. Oh, yes, mother, we have 
understood one another for a long time, and verj r 
soon I shall bring Lelia back as my wife.” 




CHAPTER XIX. 


tom’s first love. 



HIS hope was the mainspring of my Tom’s 
life, and buoyed him up during the first 
three months that followed Lelia’s de- 


parture. 

He was not asked to visit his relatives, as he 
evidently half expected, but he wrote steadily and 
regularly to Lelia, long epistles, telling all about 
himself, his life, and his love, and receiving in reply 
flimsy little letters, scented notes all froth and flip- 
pancy — rather like their author — which my poor 
boy treasured as priceless gems, and kept literally 
and figuratively next his heart. 

I did what I could to cool his ardor, and break 
the blow which I knew would fall sooner or later. 
I could not repeat in full Geraldine’s heartless 
words ; but I warned him that Lelia's position 
having somewhat changed, her mother’s views 
might modify, and that the girl herself might feel 



TOM' S FIRST LOVE. 


233 


differently disposed, now that a wider life had 
opened around her. 

But my poor Tom was too simple-minded to 
grasp at these subtleties. He could not under- 
stand a nature like Lelia’s. He fancied every one 
as open and straightforward as himself, and could 
never believe that anyone would deliberately trifle 
with the heart of another, or raise hopes that were 
not destined to be fulfilled. 

Do what I would, I could not weaken his faith 
in Lelia or her mother; indeed, he grew vexed 
with me for my inability to share his bright hopes, 
and withdrew the little confidences he had begun 
to entrust to me. I saw that if I persisted in my 
endeavors to open his eyes, I stood in danger of 
alienating his, love from me. 

So all I could do was to wait with what patience 
I could, and hope that time and absence would 
break the force of the blow. 

Nothing discouraged honest Tom, neither the 
long intervals between Lelia’s letters, nor their 
brevity when they did arrive. He had a hundred 
reasons to account for this — but never the true one. 

He was somewhat lacking in imagination, and 
could not estimate the influence of a new life upon 
a nature like Lelia’s. I could plainly see her now 
— a brilliant, beautiful young girl, leading a gay 
life, surrounded by gallant and dashing admirers, 
and lovers of wealth. Was it likely she would 


234 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


think of the honest heart she had left behind? 
Was it even to be expected that Tom’s image 
should still haunt her fancy ? She had never given 
him. anything beyond a cool, cousinly affection, 
even when they had been thrown so much together. 
Was it likely that this sentiment would quicken 
into ardent love now that all personal influence 
was withdrawn ? 

I could not blame Lelia, whatever happened. 
There w^as no engagement — even sanguine Tom 
admitted so much, and she had but accepted a 
devotion which it was almost impossible to refuse. 
Yet I did wish that she would now be a little more 
frank, and tell my poor boy plainly that whatever 
existed between them must end. The continuance 
of the correspondence w r as very bad for Tom, and 
could only make the disappointment the more 
bitter, when at last the inevitable blow should fall. 

After a time Lelia’s little scented notes ceased 
altogether, and Tom began to grow restless. 

Geraldine was not a good correspondent, but she 
wrote to me from time to time to tell me how 7 gay 
and happy a life she was leading, and how entirely 
the breach between her and her husband was 
healed. She mentioned incidentally how much 
admiration Lelia won, but she did not speak for 
some time of any possibility of her marriage. Every 
letter I opened in some fear for its contents, but 
the expected tidings came not. 


TOWS FIRST LOVE. 235 

The evil day, however, was but postponed. It 
dawned in due course. 

We were at the Mount again, and Tom had 
passed his twenty-second birthday. He had said 
to me upon that day that he intended going to see 
Lelia shortly, engaging himself to her formally, 
and fixing his wedding for his twenty-third birth- 
day. I had gently reminded him that he might 
find Lelia of a different way of thinking, but he 
had smiled confidently, and had told me that 
nothing could make him doubt her ; if she had 
changed her mind, she would be sure to have told 
him. 

Geraldine’s letter, therefore, came with a shock 
of surprise to him, if not to me. 

It contained, first, a good deal of social and 
domestic gossip, leading up as it were to the final 
climax. 

“ Well, mother, what does Aunt Geraldine say? 
Does she invite me to go and see Lelia ? ” 

I looked up, not knowing what to answer. How 
could I tell him that he was asked to Lelia’s wed- 
ding ? 

I suppose my face puzzled him, for his changed 
visibly. 

6 What is it, mother ? ” he asked. 

“ Tom, my dear boy, can you be strong, and meet 
a disappointment bravely ? ” 

He grew very pale. 


236 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

“ Is it about Lelia ? ” he asked. 

u It is about Lelia. Do you remember what I 
have sometimes said to you ? ” 

He looked in my face in a sort of dumb despair. 

“ Tell me all.” 

I knew that it was no kindness to keep him 
longer in suspense. 

“ Lelia is going to be married next month.” 

“ To whom ? 

“ To Mr. Carrisford.” 

Tom’s lip quivered a little. 

“ He was at school with me. He was three years 
older than I. Is that the fellow Lelia chooses for 
her husband ? ” 

“ He is well spoken of,” I answered gently. 
“We must hope she will be happy.” 

Tom sat quite still, brooding in a way I did not 
like to see. 

“ I must see her first,” he said at length. 

I rose and laid my hands upon his shoulders : 

“ My dear, dear boy, be advised by me. Do not 
give yourself such needless pain.” 

“ I must,” he answered. “ I cannot rest without. 
They may be forcing her into this against her will.” 

My heart felt very full of compassion. 

“ Do you really think that, my poor Tom ? Read 
your aunt’s letter, and judge for yourself.” 

He took it and read it, and looked up at me with 
haggard eyes. 


TOM'S FIB ST LOVE. 


237 


“ I must go and see her,’’ he reiterated ; “ I can- 
not trust what Aunt Geraldine says. I must see 
my Lelia, and hear it from her own lips.” 

“ It will be needless pain,” I could not refrain 
from saying. 

“No,” he answered, “I cannot act otherwise. I 
cannot believe she is a free agent. I must see her 
and speak to her, and assure myself that she is 
happy, and then I will come back — and — and — try 
to forget her. But if — ” and here a sudden, fierce, 
determined light sprang up in his eyes, “if I find 
that they are putting stress upon her — forcing her 
to marry this man, whilst her heart is mine, then I 
shall carry her straight off home to you, mother, 
and marry her in defiance of them all. You will 
receive her, will you not, if I bring her to you thus ? 
I may tell my poor darling that you will be a mother 
to her ? She will be safe with you, will she not, 
till I can make her my wife?” 

The light of sudden hope was in my boy’s eyes. 
I felt very sad for him. 

“ You may rely on me, my son ; but do not build 
upon this false hope. It will only buoy you up 
and then sink you the more deeply,” 

But he would not be warned. 

“You do not know Lelia, mother. I must goto 
my Lelia.” 

And he went. 

He was only gone two days. I heard no word 


238 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

from him during his brief absence, nor did I expect 
to do so. On the evening of the second day, as I 
was sitting alone in the twilight, the door opened 
and Tom came in. 

He walked across the room in silence, knelt down 
before me, and laid his head in my lap, without 
speaking a single word. 

I knew what that silence betokened, and my heart 
was too full to speak. I caressed my boy’s dark 
head, and my heart went out in prayer to God that 
He would comfort the young man in this his first 
great trouble, and that it might be made a blessing 
to him by leading him to fix his heart on higher 
things. 

At last Tom spoke. 

“ Mother,” he said hoarsely, “ it is all over now. 
You were right. She never loved me.” 

“ My poor, dear boy ! ” 

I think my silent sympathy quieted him. He had 
been trembling all over when first he knelt before 
me ; now he was still, but he did not lift his head. 

“ I did not understand,” he went on in a choked 
voice, “ and I would not be told. It was all play 
to her — but it is death to me.” 

“ It seems so now, dear boy,” I answered ; “ but 
by-and-by you will see things differently.” 

“ No,” he answered, steadily and resolutely ; “it 
has been my death-blow.” 

I did not argue or combat his view of the case. 


TOM'S FIRST LOVE. 239 

I understood too well the misery that he was now 
enduring. 

“I do not mean that I shall die,” went on Tom, 
slowly and laboriously. “Would that I could! 
But I have lost all that made life worth living.” 

“ Not quite, Tom, not quite,” I answered gently ; 
and after a pause he lifted his head, and looked at 
me with sunken, haggard eyes. 

“What have I left? ” he asked hoarsely; and I 
took his face between my hands, as I had not done 
since he was a little boy, and answered : 

“ You have much left, I hope, my son ; the honor 
of your father’s name to uphold, and your life to 
live bravely, before God and man.” 

He looked at me sadly, and his head went down 
again. 

“ I have no strength or purpose left. In losing 
• her I lose all.” 

“ It seems so now — it is so now, perhaps — but 
strength will come back to you in time, my dear 
boy. I think I need not tell your father’s son where 
the best help and comfort are to be found.” 

Something between a sob and a groan broke from 
Tom’s lips. 

“It is all gone — all gone !” he murmured. “I 
have grown so careless since father died. I seem 
to have lost hold of everything.” 

“ You can regain what you have lost,” I answered. 
“ The door is never shut.” 


240 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


“ But the door of my heart is shut and locked, 
and Delia’s image is all its holds. I have made an 
idol of her all these years, and even now I cannot 
displace it.” 

“ Perhaps that is why God displaced it,” I an- 
swered tenderly, yet with some firmness. u He can- 
not readily submit to the desecration of the shrine 
once consecrated to Him.” 

Tom looked up quickly. It was growing dark, 
and I could hardly read the expression of his face, 
but I felt I had roused him. I felt that he had 
been struck by my words. Perhaps there had been 
more truth in them than even I had known. Had 
the shrine been consecrated once to the service of 
God, and after that given over to the worship of a 
fellow-creature ? 

“ Can love be wrong ? ” questioned Tom. “ Has 
not God given us leave — nay, rather commanded 
us — to love one another ? Does He ever limit the 
love a man should bestow upon his wife, or upon 
her whom he would make his wife ? Does he ever 
say, 4 Thus far, and no farther ’ ? ” 

“ No,” I answered quietly, “ God lays no limit 
upon such a love as that.” 

His eyes sought mine with questioning glance. 

“ Then what is wrong ? Why do you speak as 
if I had loved Lelia too much? ” 

“ I never said you had loved her too much,” I 
answered, “ save for your own peace of mind. 


TOM'S FIRST LOVE . 


241 


What you have done has been to love God too 
little.” 

“ Explain.” 

u My dear boy, can you not see? God must be 
first , that is all. We must love Him most — love 
Him above all else in the world; and when we do 
that, no depth or intensity of love need be feared. 
He only claims the altar of our hearts. That must 
be consecrated to Him. When that is done we 
need not fear to love with all the fervor of our 
nature, for no such secondary love can be idolatry. 
The love of God purifies it and makes it holy. 
There is no limit to our earthly love ; we may love 
as we will — God it is who gives us such power to 
love — only our first love must be for Him.” 

A long silence followed my words, and then 
Tom asked : 

“ Is such a thing possible ? ” 

“ God can make it possible.” 

He lifted himself up and kissed me. 

“Pray that it may be possible for me then, 
mother.” And with that he left me. 

Tom did not escape with impunity from the 
effects of this shock, combined as it had been in 
his case by sleeplessness, fasting and the fatigues of 
travelling. 

For the first time in his life the boy was really 
ill, and for two or three clays some sort of fever 
seemed to threaten him. 


242 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

Nothing, however, developed in the end, and, 
the attack passed off, leaving behind it no ill ef- 
fects, save a temporary prostration of strength. 

Those days of illness were very precious ones 
for me. Weakness and mental suffering seemed 
to break down that barrier of reserve that had al- 
ways existed between me and my first-born, and 
Tom spoke freely of the inmost thoughts of his 
heart. 

My quiet eldest son, who had been called heavy, 
stolid, and many other similar names, had had an 
unseen history of his own, little guessed at by 
those who lived nearest to him. I heard it all 
then, and marvelled at the self-contained compre- 
hension of the boy. 

My heart often smote me as I listened to his 
tale. He had loved and adored his “beautiful 
young mother ” (as he called me), and I had given 
him so little or no notice. He had longed pas- 
sionately to be like Lovel, to win my notice and 
approval, and I had not the least idea that he cared 
one iota for me. Love like that, repressed and 
discouraged, is apt to turn sour, and thus had it 
been with Tom. As he grew older he began to 
observe, and to criticise, and to -notice that his 
father was not treated by me as the head of the 
house should be. The immediate cause of Lovel’s 
death was known to him, and it hardened his 
heart against me. He knew how much sorrow his 


TOM'S FIRST LOVE. 


243 


father suffered in the loss of his son, and he could 
not forget that I had been the cause of that loss. 

His honor and love toward his father were the 
strongest fibres of his nature ; and the death of 
that father some years later had given him a blow 
from which he had never recovered. 

It was from his father that he had derived all 
his religious feelings. He had earnestly striven in 
all things to be like him, and had eagerly endeav- 
ored to follow in his footsteps, and to emulate the 
steadfast trust in God which was so characteristic 
of my dead husband. 

But when the lad was only sixteen, his father 
had been taken away, and the blow had seemed to 
produce a strange and numbing effect upon him, 
paralyzing his every effort to rise superior to it. 
He had # rebelled in heart against God ; he could 
not turn for consolation to the mother he had 
learnt to distrust, and for a time his spiritual life 
seemed dead within him. 

Then my cousin and Lelia had appeared upon 
the scene, and from that moment a new life and 
purpose had awakened within him, and he had had 
few thoughts or feelings which were unconnected 
with his intense and growing love for the bril- # 
liant girl he had hoped soon to make his wife. 

Geraldine and Lelia had no sympathy with any 
aspirations towards a higher and holier life. They 
had made game of my attempts to teach my boys 


244 


TUE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


to live for another world, as well as for this, and 
Tom had listened and been led away against his 
better judgment, carried whither he would not by 
the charm exercised upon him by Lelia’s beauty. 

And now ? 

Now all this was changed. Conscience had 
awakened from her enforced stupor, and the noble 
soul which had been allowed to slumber was rous- 
ing itself to battle. 

After years of carelessness, after deliberate 
choice of evil rather than good, the fight is always 
hard and long. 

Tom would sometimes turn his wistful glance 
upon me, saying : 

“ Mother, I do believe — I believe in God as my 
Father, in Christ as my Redeemer; I repent of 
my sins, I most earnestly desire to live St new life. 
Faith I have, and love I have ; but the old sense 
of peace will not come to me. It seems as if I 
had cast it away, and could not win it back 
again.” 

How well I knew that feeling ! — that sense of 
desolation which at times no earnestness or faith 
seems able to lighten. What is it that brings that 
peace and comfort, that perfect, restful trust ? 

“ My boy,” I said to him sometimes, “ pray for 
the guidance of God’s Spirit. We cannot do 
without that. Pray Him to breathe into your 
heart that Spirit of truth and light which will 


TOM'S FIRST LOVE . 


245 


make your nature at one with His. 4 God is a 
Spirit ; and they that worship Him must worship 
Him in spirit and in truth.’ It is Christ who re- 
deemed us and made us children of God instead of 
servants ; but it is the Holy Ghost who regener- 
ates our sinful natures, and brings them, so far as 
may be, into unity with our Father’s. My dear 
boy, peace will come to you if you will open your 
heart to the influence of the Spirit of God.” 

And it came at last. I prayed for my boy, and 
he prayed for himself. Deep and humble repent- 
ance was the foundation, and the rest followed — 
submission to God’s will, then a sense of pardon, 
last of all, the peace that passe th understanding. 

Those were happy days for me. Again I was to 
learn — this time in gratitude and joy — that we do 
reap, if we sow, and faint not. It was ten years 
before my prayers for my eldest son seemed to 
bear fruit — ten years that I had been waiting to 
win a love and confidence he had steadily withheld. 
I had sown in sadness of heart and with many 
bitter tears, but now I was reaping a joyful harvest. 

It was by his wish that I went to Lelia’s wed- 
ding. 

I could not but feel a little sore at the way 
Geraldine had treated my poor boy. Fdid not blame 
the girl herself. She was not of an age to under- 
stand the pain she gave by appearing to accept a 
devotion to which she was really indifferent. But 


246 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


Geraldine had deliberately planned to win Tom, 
and had thrown him over only because some greater 
chance had shown itself elsewhere ; and it was not 
easy to feel cordial to one who had acted thus. 

However, Tom wished it, and I went, and stayed 
three or four days. 

The wedding was a very brilliant affair, and 
Lelia the most bewitching of brides. I need not 
describe the gayety of all I saw, and, truth to tell, 
I did not greatly enjoy it. I cannot easily say what 
was in fault, but the whole tone of the society in 
which Geraldine moved jarred upon me in an 
indescribable way, and made me long for the quiet 
of home. I felt a real sense of relief and thankful- 
ness when I reflected that Lelia could never marry 
my son. 

I thought Geraldine looked worn and ill, in spite 
of her apparent gayety of heart. Nor was I wrong. 

She took little notice of me, beyond what ordi- 
nary courtesy and hospitality demanded, for the 
first three days of my visit ; but after all was over, 
and the house had emptied itself of most of its 
guests, she seemed to grow more softened and 
pensive, and on the last night that I spent in their 
house she came to me after I had retired to my room, 
and, sitting down beside me, threw her arms about 
me, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping, 
which lasted so long that I began to grow 
alarmed. 


4 

TOM'S FIRST LOVE . 247 

But she recovered herself at last, anu made some 
excuse. She had been putting such stress upon her- 
self of late, and the strain had been great. She 
should be all the better for the relief of tears. 

Still she seemed agitated and ill at ease, and at 
last, with another burst of hysterical sobs, tearless, 
and therefore more painful to hear, said : 

“ Kate ! Kate ! What is the secret of your happi- 
ness ? ” 

I was so much surprised that I hardly knew how 
to answer. 

“Your face speaks of a happiness beyond any- 
thing I have ever known,” she went on. “ I want 
to understand it. You have lost a husband you 
loved — children you loved — you lead a life of the 
utmost seclusion. You have nothing that I can 
see to make you happy, and yet you are the happi- 
est woman I know. You are often sad, yet you 
are always happy. It sounds paradoxical, but it is 
true — and no troubles seem able to touch you. 
Tell me your secret — I must know it.” 

She spoke wildly, fiercely. I could not stop to 
argue with her ; I knew what she meant, and I had 
my answer ready. 

“ My secret, Geraldine is no secret. It is only 
this — that I love God above all else.” 

She looked at me with wide-open eyes, 

“ It can’t be that.” 

It can be, and it is. If things are with me as, 


248 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


you suppose — and you are partly right — the only 
reason I can give you is the one I have just 
stated.” 

“ Impossible ! ” 

“ Nay, Geraldine, think ! Would you say it was 
impossible for a woman’s peace and happiness to be 
made by the constant, unceasing love and care of 
one she loved best in all the world — husband', 
father or friend ? ” 

“ Why, no,” answered Geraldine, slowly ; “ that 
is natural enough. Everyone knows that a good 
husband is enough to make a woman’s happiness.” 

“ If so, Geraldine, how infinitely more the un- 
changing love of God ! ” 

Her face contracted sharply. 

“ No, no ! ” she cried ; “ that is something quite 
different ! ” 

“ Yes, indeed. So different that the human love 
fades into insignificance before the divine. Human 
love may fade or change — or may be taken away 
from us into the light of another world. But 
God’s love cannot change nor falter. He is always 
the same — the same yesterday, and to-day, and 
forever. Love Him, Geraldine, and you will have 
a faithful Friend Who will never leave you, Who 
will always be near to guide, support, sustain, and 
comfort you, in life, in death, and in eternity.” 

Geraldine’s face had put on a strange expres- 
sion. 


TOM'S FIRST LOVE. 


249 


“ In death !” she whispered ; u Kate, do you 
know that I am a dying woman ? ” 

u Dying ? ” 

“ Yes. I have an incurable complaint. I have 
not known it many days myself. I have but one 
short year, at most to live. Kate, I dare not face 
death. I am afraid ! ” 

What could I say? I was sadly shocked and 
startled ; but our interview was destined to be cut 
short at this point. Her husband’s voice was heard 
calling impatiently for his wife. 

“ I must go ! ” exclaimed Geraldine, rising, and 
turning an imploring look upon me. “ Kate, tell 
me one thing. What must I do ? ” 

I could only lay my hand upon^the Bible. 

“ You will find it all there,” I answered. “ It is 
the Word of God — a light and a lamp to the path. 
Search the Scriptures, for in them is eternal life. 
Pray without ceasing-^- 4 The prayer of faith can 
do more than aught else in this world.’ ” 

Her dark eyes expressed only a dumb entreaty 
not unmixed with despair. 

“ Ah, if I had not neglected so long ! I fear it 
is too late now ! ” 

I would have spoken, but another impatient call 
interrupted my words. 

“1 must go!” cried Geraldine. “ Kate — if I 
have warning — they say I shall — will you come to 
me?” 


250 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


“I will.” 

“ You promise me ? ” 

“ I promise.” 

We kissed each other, and she went. I did not 
see her again alone, before leaving early the next 
morning. I went home feeling strangely saddened 
and subdued. 




CHAPTER XX. 

GEEALDINE. 

WENT home to my son and told him all 
about his cousin’s wedding. He said 
little, but his face wore a stricken look 
which I could not bear to see. 

I counselled him to go abroad and travel for a 
while — for a year or two, if need be. I thought 
the change of air and scene would be beneficial, 
and that the knowledge he would thus gain of 
other peoples and governments would be of value 
to him in the political career he hoped by-and-by 
to commence. 

We had friends who were going to journey be- 
yond the ordinary routes common to travellers in 
those less adventurous days, and Tom was easily 
persuaded to accompany them. 

I went back to Lydgate with my two little ones, 
and lived very quietly and happily there. 





252 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

Tom's letters only came at long intervals but I 
gathered from them that he was gradually recover- 
ing tone, and I was glad that he was interested in 
his travels, and made no objections to his going 
farther and farther away, extending his original 
term of absence to double and treble the allotted 
time. 

It was nearly eight years before he settled down 
again, although he paid visits to his native land 
from time to time. Those eight years passed very 
quietly for me ; and I think the chief event hap- 
pened during the first winter after he had left me. 

It was then that I received the summons I had 
been vaguely expecting from my cousin Geraldine. 

She did not correspond with me after Lelia’s 
wedding ; I think I only received one note from 
her, and that at Christmas time, and it made no 
allusion to her health, nor to the conversation we 
had held together upon the last night of my visit. 

But during a bitterly cold March in the follow- 
ing year the summons came. 

It was but a few shaky lines, written as if with 
extreme difficulty. 

u I am dying. Will you come to me ? You said 
you would. — G eraldine.” 

Besides those words was nothing, save the name 
of the house where she was. I observed, with a 
mixture of relief and dismay, that it was not her 
home, but a small house on the outskirts of the 


GERALDINE. 253 

park, which had sometimes been used as a dower 
house. 

Had there been another breach between Gerald- 
ine and her husband ? 

That I should learn most likely when I got to 
her. 

It was terrible weather for travelling — such cold 
and such snow ; but I dared not delay. Geraldine 
was dying and wanted me. Common humanity 
bid me brave everything to reach her. 

My servants, and even my two darlings, implored 
me not to go, but I was resolute. I was obliged to 
post all the way, for railways were still few and far 
between, and no line would serve me in going to 
my present destination. 

The journey was tedious, and the cold was fright- 
ful, but I arrived without accident at dusk one 
evening, and found myself in a curious little house, 
quaint and by no means luxurious in its accommo- 
dation, and was told by a young maid-servant, that 
Mrs. Scrope had been expecting me anxiously ever 
since the previous afternoon, but that she had just 
gone off to sleep, worn out by watching. 

I asked the girl what servants were in the house, 
and who was nursing Mrs Scrope 0 I was told that 
there was no nurse, but that this maid and another 
no older had the sole care of the sick lady and of 
the house. 

Did her husband often come ? 


254 TUE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

No, not often. 3e did not like sick folks ; that 
was why my lady had come here when she was ill. 
She liked to keep out of his way, and she couldn’t 
bear the noise. 

I would fain have asked more, but hardly felt 
justified in hearing from this young maid so much 
to her master’s discredit. I was truly glad I had 
• brought my own valuable maid with me, and a ham- 
per of invalid requirements. 

I had hesitated a good deal about this last, but 
consideration of the state of the roads, and Gerald- 
ine’s inexperience in sickness, had triumphed, and 
I had decided to bring many little trifles that were 
of use in illness ; and I was sincerely glad I had 
done so when I found out how matters were going 
in this ill-furnished house. 

I was taken up to Geraldine’s room. 

It was a small and poor little apartment, quite 
lacking all those nameless appointments which 
give an air of comfort and luxury to the chambers 
of the sick, when they are endowed with this 
world’s goods. All necessary objects were there, 
but nothing else. I could hardly believe that this 
was really the sick room of my cousin Geraldine. 

The fire had burnt low, and was black and 
smothered in ahes ; the room was at once cold and 
close, and through the uncurtained window the 
young moon shone frostily, hanging in a sky that 
still glimmered with the last rays of fading daylight. 


GERALDINE . 


255 


Geraldine lay sleeping on the bed, her thin 
white face just touched by the pale light that 
entered through the panes of glass so near the 
bed. 

Ah me, how she had changed ! 

It was almost a skeleton face I saw — so drawn, so 
hollow, so ghastly. I had to look closely before I 
could feel certain that it was Geraldine ; and my 
heart throbbed with an intense pity and pain, be- 
yond all power of expression, when I made out the 
features of the once brilliant Geraldine. 

Still she slept on — the heavy sleep of exhausted 
nature. I saw she would not easily be roused, and 
I was glad of it. 

I summoned my maid, and together we made a 
blazing fire of logs, and ventilated the room whilst 
warming it. The blind was drawn down over the 
cold, desolate snow landscape, and a thick crimson 
curtain, from the downstair room, was hung over 
the window, and another over the door. 

The deft, practised hands of Janet, my maid, 
soon gave a very different aspect to that poor room. 
Whatever else the houso could furnish to give 
warmth and comfort to the invalid was quickly 
transported thither. During that hour, whilst 
Geraldine slumbered, we had made her room into 
a different place — I hardly knew it for the same. 

Janet had won the good graces of the two young 
maids by her quickness and good temper. They 


256 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


in no way resented our intrusion or the changes 
we instituted, but helped us all they could, and 
seemed delighted to be able to share the weight of 
responsibility with others. 

When all was done that was possible, and an air 
of real comfort given to that poor apartment, Janet 
brought me some tea, which I was glad to sip, as 
I sat beside the fire, awaiting the awakening of my 
patient. 

The great logs blazed cheerily ; the shaded lamp 
burned with a softened light upon the table. The 
crimson curtains and warm rugs gave an air of 
coziness and comfort to the little room. I grew 
drowsy myself, after my long, cold journey, and 
I think I was asleep, when suddenly I heard 
the sound of my own name faintly spoken by some 
voice close at hand. 

“ Kate ! ” 

I started up and approached the bed. Geral- 
dine’s eyes were open now. 

“ Kate — is it you ? ” 

“ Yes, Geraldine, I have come,” I answered, 
stooping to kiss her. “ You expected me ? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered slowly, “ I expected you” 

The emphasis upon the pronoun showed me that 
some comparison was being drawn, but I asked no 
questions then. 

Geraldine was looking slowly round the room. 

“ Where am I ?” she asked. 


GERALDINE. 257 

“In your own room, I answered. “We could 
not move you now.” 

“It is the same,” she remarked presently. “ This 
is your doing, Kate. It is like you.” 

“The servants did more than I. We all want 
to make you as comfortable as possible.” 

She smiled half sadly, half bitterly. 

“ You are kind, Kate, you always were. But of 
what avail is it to minister to a dying woman ? 
What does it all matter now ? Kate — I do not 
believe I have a week to live.” 

Looking at her sunken face I could well believe 
it. 

“ You are not afraid of death, Geraldine ? ” 

She clutched my hand and held it fast ; her eyes 
glittered as they met mine. 

“Yes,” she gasped, “I am afraid — miserable as 
my life has been, I am afraid of death. I do not 
wish to live, and yet I fear to die. Was ever such 
a wretched woman as I ? ” 

She became much agitated. In her weak state 
very little sufficed to excite her, much more the 
thought of a dreaded future. 

“ Geraldine,” I said, “ you must try to be calm. 
You will hurt yourself. God is never sought in 
vain. Christ has died for every sinner — for you, 
Geraldine, as well as for all mankind. Take your 
fear and your sin and your sorrow to Him. He is 
never entreated in vain. He will take it all away, 


258 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

and give you in its place, the help and comfort of 
His Holy Spirit. Only go to Him — He is ever to 
be found at the foot of the cross.” 

Geraldine’s eyes were fixed imploringly upon 
me, she listened with a sort of despairing eager- 
ness ; but no light came into the hollow face. In- 
deed, the eyes soon grew dim and weary, and she 
passed her hand across her face. 

“ It is no use,” she murmured. “ I have put it 
off so long, and now I cannot think *or grasp the 
hope, even though I am dying for it.” 

Ah, that inexorable sowing and reaping ! How 
it seemed to haunt my life ! 

I saw at this moment that Geraldine was phys- 
ically incapable of laying hold on the truths I fain 
would teach her. I ceased to speak then. I knew 
that she would open the subject herself when she 
felt able to think and reason. 

I ventured an inquiry which had been in my 
thoughts ever since my arrival. 

“ Where is Lelia? ” 

“ In Paris.” Rather a bitter smile played over 
Geraldine’s face as she spoke. 

“ But she is coming to you ? ” 

Geraldine put her hand under her pillow, and 
drew out a little scented note, like many others of 
its kind that I had seen. 

“You see how she is situated,” said Geraldine, 
as she handed the paper to me. It was blistered 


GERALDINE. 


259 


with tears, that elegant little missive — I knew 
those tears had never fallen from Lelia’s bright 
eyes. 

•“ My darling Mother, — I am desolated to be 
unable to come to you, but my husband absolutely 
forbids my taking the journey in this bitter weath- 
er, and what can a poor wife do ? I am tempted 
to disobey him, and fly to you ; but I know you 
would not wish me so to act. We shall hope to 
hear a better account of you soon ; for we quite 
decline to take the gloomy view of the case that 
you do. You were so well last time we saw you, 
that it is impossible you can ail anything very 
serious now. Take great care of yourself, and you 
will soon be well again. 

44 Your desolate and broken-hearted, 

fc4 Lelia.” 

I folded up the letter, and returned it to Ger- 
aldine without a word. 

64 She could not help herself,” said the mother. 

44 Possibly not.” 

44 Lelia is not hard-hearted — only careless, like 
all young things. I think she is better away. Why 
should she be saddened ? ” 

Poor Geraldine ! My heart bled for her ; but 
what could I say. What comfort had I to offer in 
place of a daughter’s love ? She had loved that 
beautiful child of hers with as deep a love as her 


260 the mis tress of l ydga te . 

nature was capable of, and this was her reward. 

“Your husband?” I asked, with some little 
hesitation. 

The bitterness of her smile ! 

“ He comes each day to inquire ; and I see him 
if I choose to do so. We are not estranged, you 
understand. I have come here for a little change 
of air. I find the quiet necessary for me.” 

What could I say ? I could only hold the un- 
happy woman in my arms and kiss her. whilst my 
tears fell upon her face. 

Her enforced gayety gave way, and she burst 
into passionate sobbing. 

“ Ah, Kate ! Kate ! you are worth all of them to 
me ! You come to me when I need the help that 
all those I have loved refuse me. I have injured 
you more than you know. I have been your 
enemy in ways you never suspected — and yet, at 
the last, I turn to you, and you are my best and 
only friend upon my dying bed.” 

“Nay, Geraldine — not that. You have one 
Friend nearer and dearer than all others. Turn 
to Him, He will comfort you now.” 

How many times that night, and in the dreary 
days that followed, did I repeat those words, or 
words like to them, and urge my poor dying cousin 
to turn her eyes upwards, and look upon the 
Saviour Who had died upon the cross for her sins. 
How many long hours did I spend upon my knees 


GERALDINE. 


261 


in intense prayer for one who seemed unable to 
pray for herself ; how often did I passionately re- 
sist the languor of despair that settled again and 
again upon the struggling soul, and threatened to 
quench the dim spark that had at last been lighted 
there ! 

I pray God it may never again be my lot to 
watch by such a death-bed ! 

I was not new to the office of nurse and watcher. 
I had seen those whom best I loved go down into 
the shadowy valley at the call of the unseen 
Father. I had been with them till the very last, 
and I had seen how fearlessly they trod that mys- 
terious path. I could see in their shining faces 
that it was light, and not darkness, to them. 

But this journey was different from anything I 
had witnessed before. This traveller was alone , 
or thought herself alone, as she set out upon that 
voyage towards the great unknown land. 

No light from the other side shone upon the 
pathway for her. The shadows of the valley were 
very dark — very dismal. No voice said to her, 
“I will be with thee,” — no rod, no staff seemed 
held out to help her along the dark way. 

And the passage too was a hard and stormy one. 
Poor Geraldine suffered much during those long, 
dark days when she lay dying, whilst Death yet 
held aloof, as if he waited until she should cease 
to fear him, before he took her away. 


262 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


I never left her, night or day, during all that 
terrible time. She could not bear me out of her 
sight, and I grew gradually to see with joy that 
my words, and those from the Great Book I read 
to her whenever she could attend, did in some way 
soothe and quiet her. She no longer shook her 
head and murmured, “I can’t ! I can’t! Let me 
rest ! ” When I begged her to look to God and ac- 
cept the pardon her soul so craved. Now she 
would look at me with her dim eyes and say : 

“You pray, Kate — your prayers will be heard. 
Pray for me— pray ! I do repent ! Pray that faith 
may come ! ” 

She told me much of her past life in her hours 
of comparative ease — confessed much that was 
wrong — faults against me and against others. Let 
these be forgotten ; they were repented of at the 
last — who can doubt that they were forgiven too ? 

As we sow, so shall we reap. My poor Geraldine 
was reaping her harvest on her miserable death-bed. 
But I thanked God that the harvest was reaped in 
the time of this present life. Suffering and loneli- 
ness did bring her to her Saviour at last ; and one 
faint gleam of light did pierce the blackness of the 
path before her. Thank God for that! For how 
much more sad and awful is the fate of those 
who leave this world smiling and hardened — the 
harvest of their evil deeds to be reaped in the life 
to come ! 


GERALDINE. 


263 


As we sow, so do we reap. 

It was with no triumphant gladness— no sense of 
fearless confidence — that the wearied soul freed it- 
self at last from the fetters of the flesh, and went 
out to meet the new eternal life. No ; there was 
none of that glad sense of freedom and love to 
cheer my poor Geraldine, as she stepped shudder- 
ingly into the shadows of the dark valley upon 
whose borders her feet had so long been standing. 

The end came rather suddenly at the very last, 
long though we had expected it. 

She had seen her husband early in the day, and 
had exchanged with him a few words more loving 
than usual. He had appeared somewhat softened 
by her extreme illness, and had kissed her with 
some show of affection, whilst Geraldine had 
whispered : 

“ Then all is forgiven between us, Henry.” 

She had slept during th^ afternoon, and had 
seemed refreshed when she woke, just at sunset. 

The window looked west, and the glow in the 
frosty sky was very beautiful. 

I was sitting holding her hand when she said^ 
“Is heaven behind there, Kate?” 

“ Heaven is where God is,” I answered. 

“Tell me about it. Talk to me,” she said. 

I quoted a few such comforting texts as came at 
once into my mind, ending with this one : 

“ He will swallow up death in victory ; and the 


264 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces.” 

Geraldine slowly repeated these words after me. 

“ 4 Wipe away tears from all faces.’ Will He 
wipe away mine, Kate ? ” 

“Yes, dear. I am sure of it. Your sins are 
washed away in His blood. You believe his prom- 
ises. He will take you to the home He has pre- 
pared for you. You are not afraid now, are you, 
Geraldine ? ” 

She did not answer. The expression of her face 
startled me. The gray shadow was one that I knew 
so well. It could mean but one thing. 

“ Death is swallowed up in victory,” she said in 
a faint far-away voice ; “ Kate — I believe — it is.” 

Then her head fell back ; and I knew that Geral- 
dine was dead. 



CHAPTER XXL 


MY CHILDREN. 



REMAINED for my cousin’s funeral, and 
then went home to resume my quiet, un- 
eventful life there. 

Nothing of any note happened for many years. 

Malcolm and Elizabeth grew from childhood into 
youth, and in them I seemed to live my life anew. 

These children were everything that mother’s 
heart could wish. Anything more touching than 
their devotion to me, more beautiful than their love 
towards one another, I never have seen, nor could 
I wish to see. 

Malcolm did not go to school. He had an ex- 
cellent tutor, who came daily to teach him, and his 
was one of those peculiarly bright and happy tem- 
peraments that do not seem to require the disci- 
pline of school to form them, and I felt that it 
would be cruelty to both children to separate them. 

So the brother and sister grew up together, lov- 




266 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


ing and beloved, sharing each other’s joys and sor- 
rows, studies and recreations, almost as if one 
heart and spirit animated both. 

Very happy, peaceful years were those. It 
seemed to me sometimes as if a foretaste of heaven 
were vouchsafed to me then, in the atmosphere of 
love that reigned in our home — love to God and 
love to man 

My other boys were all well and happy. 

Thomas, quite recovered in mind and body, was 
still more or less abroad, but meditated shortly set- 
tling at the Mount and attempting to get a seat in 
Parliament. He did not speak of marriage yet, 
but I hoped that sooner or later he would learn to 
love again. 

Harold had risen to the rank of captain, and was 
a great deal away on foreign service. He liked his 
profession increasingly, and was likely to rise in it. 
Colonel Lyon still remained his staunch friend and 
mine, and always visited me when he had the 
chance to do so. 

Arthur was studying at the Bar, and lived in 
London. He was still young, but very clever, 
they all said, and was already engaged to a very 
charming and wealthy girl — the daughter of a judge 
who had taken a great fancy to Arthur. Every 
one told me that his prospects were excellent. 

Already I was able to feel proud of my sons. 
Whenever I did see them I had reason to feel 


MY CHILDREN . 


267 


proud and glad. I did not perhaps know them as 
intimately as I should have done had I been a dif- 
ferent woman during their early childhood; but 
Tom had given me his whole confidence, and the 
other two treated me with an affectionate respect 
which left little to be desired. Whilst as for my 
twin darlings — the children of my old age — no 
words can express their loving devotion. 

I was very happy. I think all my children had 
learnt to serve and love God. Tom, I knew, had 
come back to the earnest, steadfast faith his father 
had taught; and although I could not feel quite the 
same certainty about Harold and Arthur, I had rea- 
son to believe that they too had attained to a 
quiet, manly belief, not demonstrative or easy to 
detect, perhaps, but none the less sincere for that, 
nor the more easy to uproot. 

Malcolm and Elizabeth had grown up from in- 
fancy in the path which J fain would myself have 
trod. Their simple, childlike faith and earnest, 
trustful love taught me many a lesson, whilst they 
thought I was teaching them. 

Neither did they outgrow their childish faith ; 
rather did it deepen and widen with the growth of 
their minds, and many times have the tears 
started to my eyes, as I have heard them talk to 
one another over the words of their daily chapter, 
which they never missed reading each day together 
no matter what else had to be left undone. 


268 


THE MI ST HESS OF LYDGATE. 


Ah yes, those were happy days -and years. They 
fled away so fast that I can hardly believe, looking 
back, how long a period of time they really 
covered. 

My fiftieth birthday made a sort of break in 
the quiet monotony of our lives. I remember it 
well both for its own sake and for what followed 
almost immediately afterwards. 

We had quite a family gathering to celebrate it. 
By a fortunate chance, Harold’s leave was due at 
the time. Tom ended his travels, and came home, 
whilst Arthur took a holiday and joined us at 
Lydgate. 

It was a very happy family gathering — the first 
we had been able to celebrate since the boys had 
been fairly launched in the world. I think we all 
enjoyed it greatly. I did so, most certainly, but 
for one drawback — a feeling of illness and weak- 
ness for which I could not at all account. 

I had been blessed all my life long with excel- 
lent health. I had never been seriously ill, and 
had seldom ailed anything at all. 

The sense of languor which hung about me for 
man}’ days, the aching head, the weary limbs, were 
sensations so new to me that I did not understand 
what they could mean, and I struggled against the 
overpowering sense of illness as long as ever I 
could. 

But at last I could hold out no longer. I gave 


MY CHILDREN. 269 

in and took to my bed, which I did not leave again 
for many long weeks. 

It was typhoid fever that laid me low; but in 
those days the nature and course of the malady were 
far less known than it is now.. 

For many weeks I lay prostrate, almost at death’s 
door ; and several times the doctors gave me up, 
and believed that I could never rally again. 

Yet those weeks were very precious ones, in 
spite of weakness and sickness and suffering. I 
would not be without the memories they call up — 
very precious memories they are to me. 

My head was clear. I knew those about me. I 
could often talk with them, as they sat beside me 
in the quiet of the sick room. 

As T lay there, face to face with death, all re- 
serve seemed to melt away, and my sons talked to 
me out of the fulness of their hearts. 

“ Mother, we cannot spare you.” Those words 
were often spoken tenderly in my ear. “Mother, 
you must live for our sakes.” 

“ Dear i>oys,” I sometimes said, “ I feel as if I 
had done so little for you all.” 

“Little! Ah, mother, you do not know! We 
have been very ungrateful, very careless, very un- 
kind. We often hurt you by our rough words; 
but — ah, how you made us reverence you ! When 
we look back to those days, we would give all to 
undo what we did and said that hurt you ! ” 


270 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


Dear loving boys ! They did not know that the 
fault was mine that had caused the early breach 
between us. But did not this make amends tor 
all? Yes, indeed ! I was repaid a thousandfold 
for every little effprt, for every feeble prayer. 
How true it is that those who go forth weeping 
with their seed shall come again rejoicing, bearing 
their sheaves with them ! 

In the dark hours, too, when death seemed hover- 
ing very closely over my head, still more precious 
assurances were given to me. 

“ Shall I see my boys again, when the call comes 
for them ? ” I sometimes asked. “ Are they fol- 
lowing in the Great Master's footsteps, and will 
they reach the promised home at last ? ” 

“ We are trying, mother,” would be the steady 
answer. “ God helping us, we will come to you 
by-and-by.” 

u You will fight your battles bravely ? You will 
never be ashamed of the banner under which you 
serve ?” 

“ Never ! ” 

“ Nor grow weary of the service ? ” 

No — no. How can we, when we have your 
example before us ? ” 

“ Not mine, my children, not mine, but that of 
our Master and only Saviour Jesus Christ.” 

u Yes, and yours too, who brought us to love 
Him at last.” 


MY CHILDREN. 


271 


Ah, happy days ! Ah, blessed assurances ! 
With my dear ones around me, giving me such 
sweet proofs of love, how could I be otherwise 
than joyously resigned 

The valley of the shadow ! Call it rather the 
vale of light. As I stood near its brink, and 
looked down into its depths, there was no dark- 
ness there for me, only a shining river, and on 
its farther shore my dear ones watching and 
waiting. 

Gladly would I have gone to them — but it was 
not to be ; and equally ready was I to stay, if my 
Father willed it. 

His goodness to me was so great, His love such 
an overshadowing presence, that to do His will was 
enough. I could lie at rest beneath His loving care, 
to live or to die as He bid me. 

And He bid me live. 

Was it in answer to my children’s pra} r ers that 
my life was given back to me as by a miracle ? 
Why not? Has God’s ear grown deaf, or is His 
arm shortened, that we talk and act as if prayer 
were not a real, living power ? 

The fever left me weak as a babe. I knew at 
last that I should live, to take up’ the burden of life 
I had thought to lay down. 

And I was content, nay, glad to do so. The 
thought of the long, eternal rest had been very 
welcome ; but was not each year now vouchsafed 


272 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

me a year in which to praise and love God, and 
work for Him to the best of my ability ? As I lay 
many weeks, in the helplessness of very gradually 
returning strength, I prayed that the life thus re- 
stored to me might be dedicated wholly to the God 
whose servant I called myself. 

I was very tenderly nursed and cared for during 
all these long weeks, by my own children firstly, 
and then by my dear friend and neighbor, Mrs. 
Trefusis. I have had no space in my story hitherto 
to talk of the friends by whom I was surrounded 
in my home ; but the best and nearest of these was 
Mrs. Trefusis, whose son, George, had accompanied 
my Lovel upon that last fatal ride. 

George had deeply felt his young companion’s 
death, and had haunted us persistently ever since, 
almost taking the place of a son to me sometimes, 
when my elder boys had been away. 

Mrs. Trefusis was always ready with help or 
counsel, and was a true friend, and at the crisis of 
my illness, had come with her eldest unmarried 
daughter, Caroline, to help in the nursing, and to 
be a stay and support to my poor little Elizabeth, 
who at sixteen was hardly competent to manage 
the house and the nursing, and all that falls upon 
an only daughter at such a season. 

They were very good and kind and a great com- 
fort. I felt that all was going right, and my mind 
was relieved of all its burden. 


MY CHILDREN. 


273 


When I became convalescent, and able to look 
after matters somewhat myself, they went away ; 
but the effects of this visit were yet to be seen, in 
results of which I never dreamed. 

Harold had had to leave as soon as I was pro- 
nounced out of danger ; and Arthur could not re- 
main ; but he always managed to spend an alternate 
Sunday with me, and on one of these I had a new 
proof of my sons’ generous devotion to me. 

“ Mother,” said Arthur one day, as he sat beside 
my couch, “ are you well enough to talk a little 
business ? ” 

“ Yes, certainly,” I answered, expecting him to 
begin about his possible marriage. 

“ And you will not think it cool what I am going 
to say ? ” 

“Not if I can help it,” I answered smiling. 

“ Well, it is just this,” went on Arthur, speaking 
rapidly and clearly. “ Harold and I have been talk- 
ing things over, and we have both arrived at the 
same conclusion. You know, of course, that Mal- 
colm is a youngest son, and in the ordinary course 
of things would have to turn to by-and-by and take 
to some profession. But that must necessarily 
take him away from you and from home, and then 
if Elizabeth should marry (and she is growing so 
lovely that she is sure to be claimed sooner or later) 
you would be left alone, without one of your child- 
ren near you. Now this we cannot bear. You know 


274 


TI1E MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


that we are well provided for by our father, and we 
both have our professions, Harold and I, which 
seem likely to become lucrative. Harold loves 
soldiering far too well ever to settle down as a 
country gentleman, and my ambition is for a career 
that will tie me more or less to London. This 
being the case, it is our great wish that Malcolm 
should remain with you — 4 the son of your old age,’ 
— and that you should make him your heir. We 
know you have absolute control over your own 
property. Let Malcolm live with you here, whether 
he marries or whether he remains single. Let it be 
understood that it is his house, and that it is his 
vocation to be a country squire, looking after things 
first for you, and then for himself. If this arrange- 
ment is fully made, then we shall all know that, 
whatever happens, our mother is not alone, but has 
one of her children, and one of those most fitted 
for the office — to care for her and cherish her. It 
will be such a comfort, so far outweighing all other 
considerations, that Harold and I beg of you not 
to refuse our joint request.” 

My heart was so full that I could hardly find 
voice to answer. What more could a mother need 
than such solid testimony as this, of the love of her 
sons ? 

Here were two young men, full of ambition, by 
no means ignorant of the value of wealth, combining 
in wishing to pass on to a younger brother a fine 


MY CHILDREN. 275 

inheritance, in order to secure for me the constant 
companionship of one of my sons. 

Tears stood in iny eyes, and I could not answer. 
Arthur rose and kissed me. 

“ You must think about it, mother,” said he. 
You will please us most b} r doing as we wish. 
We do wish it most earnestly.” 



CHAPTER XXII. 

MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 

AYS had come and days had gone. My 
health had gradually come back to me. I 
began once more to take short drives in the 
sunny park, and life seemed very sweet and beau- 
tiful, surrounded as I was by so much love and 
tenderness. 

“ Surely I will be with thee.” 

How often during the past weeks had those 
words — the last my husband had spoken — rung in 
my ears ! How true I had found them ! True 
then, and true now. Surely no woman was ever 
so blessed as I in my children’s love, and in a love 
higher and holier still. God’s fatherly presence 
seemed very near in those days — each week, as it 
passed, seemed to bring me nearer to Him. 

And there was more happiness still in store for 
me. One sunny afternoon, Tom came and drew 
my arm within his, although I hardly needed that 
strong support now. 

I fancied by his preoccupied manner that he had 




MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE . 277 

something to say of unusual importance, and I was 
not mistaken. 

By-and-by we sat down in a sheltered nook, and 
then he began : 

“ Mother, I have something to say to you.” 

“ Yes, my boy.” 

I called him my boy still, although he was nearly 
thirty. Sons, I suppose, always remain boys to 
their mothers. 

“ Can you guess, mother ? ” 

I looked at him doubtfully ; but I had not the 
clue to his thoughts, and was afraid to hazard a 
suggestion. 

“ I think you had better tell me.” 

“ Then I will. I have asked Caroline Trefusis 
to be my wife, and she has consented.” 

I kissed him with some emotion. 

“ My boy, that is good news for me.” 

“ You are plea'sed, mother? ” 

“ I am, indeed — more pleased than I can say.” 

“ And you will give my Lena a mother’s love ? 
You do love her, do you not ?” 

“I do, indeed. I think she is as sweet as she is 
pretty, and as good as she is sweet. She always 
makes me think of a violet, with her deep eyes, her 
drooping, flower-like head, and her gentle modest 
air.” 

Tom looked pleased. He liked to hear his love 
praised so warmly. 


278 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

I was truly glad to hear his news. I had long 
wished that my eldest son would make for himself 
a home and ties. He was far more suited to family 
life than to knocking about the world, and mar- 
riage would not hinder a Parliamentary career, if 
he should be successful in that ambition. 

“ Have you decided when to be married ? ” 

“ Early next year, we hope,” answered Tom, 
smiling ; and after a pause he added : 

“ They say the Great Exhibition will be opened 
some time then, and I want to take Lena to see it. 
She has never been to London.” 

I smiled and sighed at the same time. History, 
they say, repeats itself. I think it does indeed. I 
had seen London for the first time on my bridal 
trip ; and now Tom talked of doing as his father 
had done before him, of taking his young wife to the 
great metropolis as an introduction to married life. 

There was little danger, however, of history 
repeating itself further. Sweet, gentle Caroline 
Trefusis would be a different wife from imperious, 
wayward Kate Lovel. 

Tom’s engagement gave great satisfaction. We 
liked the family, and Caroline won all hearts by 
her sweetness and gentleness. It was not the 
sweetness of insipidity, nor the gentleness of weak- 
ness ; the girl had a fine nature, a most lovable 
disposition. In some of the confidences she gave 
me, which I found very congenial, she told me that 


MARRV1NG AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 279 

she had suffered as a child from a violent temper 
and a great inclination to selfishness ; but that she 
had been aroused by some words she had heard in 
a sermon, and had seen her sins in the light in 
which others must see them. Much shocked and 
distressed, she had set herself steadfastly and 
prayerfully to conquer them; and, by God’s grace, 
she had so far succeeded, that all outward indica- 
tions of passion had long been subdued, and only 
from the girl’s own lips could one learn the 
struggle that still went on at times. 

Talks like these gave me an insight into the 
character of my future daughter-in-law that I found 
very cheering and encouraging, and I felt increas- 
ingly certain that she would make a good wife to 
my dear boy, whom she loved as a true woman does 
love, dcepty and unselfishly. 

Tom passed nearly all that autumn and winter 
at Lydgate with me, in order to be near Caroline. 
We spent Christmas there very happily, and then 
we all migrated to the Mount, taking Mrs. Tre- 
fusis and her daughter with us ; and very busy 
we all were in planning how the house could be 
improved and renovated, in order to receive its new 
mistress. Caroline declared that all was perfect as 
it stood ; but Tom was by no means of that opin- 
ion, and under his direction a new air of luxury 
and taste began to appear in the somewhat formal 
rooms of his house. 


280 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


And ill the year following Tom was married, and 
carried his bride off to London. 

I took Malcolm and Elizabeth up by-and-by, to 
see the wonderful Exhibition; and Mrs. Trefusis 
did the same by her children, and we saw the sights 
of London together, and our young folk enjoyed 
themselves to their hearts’ content. 

- Are mothers blind ? 

The question is often asked, and not without 
reason. Yet certainly Mrs. Trefusis and I remained 
blind to a something that was going on under our 
very eyes. 

I have spoken of George Trefusis, and his almost 
filial attention to me ever since the accident which 
cost Lovel his life. 

He never could quite rid himself of the haunting 
thought that he was in some indirect way the cause 
of that accident, and lie did everything that a boy 
could do to “ make up ” to me for the loss of a son. 

When my twin children were born, and had 
begun to toddle and lisp little words, George be- 
came their most devoted slave, and as Elizabeth 
began to grow and develop, he became her faithful 
champion. 

George had grown from a boy to a man, and 
Elizabeth from a baby to a young girl, but his hom- 
age had never ceased and never cooled, and he 
loved her as dearly as her own brothers did. 

He was as a brother to her, as I had always said, 


MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 281 

and I had watched the dawning love on both sides 
without in the least recognizing its true nature. 

But when a maiden is nearly seventeen, and a 
man of nearly thirty pays her the devoted attention 
that George Trefusis always showed my Elizabeth, 
it is surely time for a mother to awake from her 
dream of brotherly and sisterly love, and face the 
truth at all costs. 

Yet my eyes remained blinded. My lovely little 
Elizabeth was still a child to me, despite her 
thoughtful nature and womanly ways. These past- 
ten years of peaceful happiness had flown so fast, 
that I could not realize how they had changed my 
child into a maiden — a very sweet and thoughtful 
maiden too, with a mind as pure and lovely as her 
face — and I never guessed that already that loving 
heart was passing out of my darling’s keeping, 
yielding itself unconsciously into the hands of 
another. 

George was in the diplomatic service, and was 
rising rapidly. He was a good deal abroad, and 
was likely to be more so, for a post was soon to be 
offered him in connection with the embassy at 
Vienna, and he had made up his mind,. or almost 
so, to accept it. He asked my advice (I little then 
knew why), and I unhesitatingly counselled him 
not to lose so good a chance of advancement. 

I sometimes wondered at the manner he adopted 
towards me, and the eagerness he always showed to 


282 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


join our circle whenever the chance allowed ; but 
I was far from guessing the true cause of his de-. 
votion. 

1 do not think my sweet Elizabeth had as yet 
awakened to the knowledge of her own heart. 
George had always been her playmate and cham- 
pion, ever since she could run alone. She had seen 
more of him than of her own elder brothers, and 
she looked up to him, and leaned upon him, in a 
way that is not common between brothers and sis- 
ters. lie was as much a part of her life as myself 
or Malcolm, and she became bound up in him 
before she understood whither her steps were tend- 
ing. I think George knew what the end must be, 
but nobody else did. 

A year passed quickly on after Tom’s wedding. 
My first grandchild had been born, and I had 
taken Elizabath with me to see the little stranger. 
On our arrival we had found George there, on a 
brief visit to his sister. 

He was doing very well in Vienna, he told us, 
and liked the life ; but his time w^as too fully oc- 
cupied to leave room for many visits home. He 
meant to come to see us before he went back. 

He and Elizabeth had not met for a year, so it 
did not surprise me that they sought each other out 
a good deal, and were much together during this 
week. 

When we left the Mount, Elizabeth was preoc- 


MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 283 

cupied and unusually thoughtful. I wondered some- 
times what was on her mind ; but, as she always 
gave me her confidence, I waited for her to speak, 
and did not press her by any questions. 

When we reached home this preoccupation still 
continued, and at last I learned its cause. 

“ Mother,’’ she said to me one day, kneeling at 
my feet, and looking up at me with her sweet eyes, 
“ George is coming to see you to-morrow.” 

“ W ell, my darling, there is nothing very strange 
in that, is there ? ” 

“ Ah, but this is different,” said Elizabeth softly, 
a faint crimson mantling in her cheek. “He is 
coming this time — about me.” 

Then I understood. The scales fell from my 
eyes.- I saw my sweet “ baby girl ” as others saw 
her — a very lovely maiden, made to be loved ; and 
I knew that the time had come when I must give 
her up. Not quite immediately, perhaps — still the 
beginning of the end. 

I was silent only for a few brief seconds, but I 
seemed to have time for a perfect panorama of 
thought. My heart went up to God in a prayer for 
guidance and for unselfishness; and the help I 
needed was sent down. I was able to smile into 
my darling's face as I kissed her smooth white 
brow. 

“ About you, my little one ? Ah me, how the 
years go by ! So my tiny Elizabeth, who was but 


284 


TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


yesterday, as it seems, a little toddling child, is a 
woman now ? Is that what you have come to tell 
your old mother ? Is that what George is coming 
to-morrow to talk about with me ? ” 

The look of loving gratitude and relief that swept 
over the fair face was more than payment for the 
effort I had made to keep in check my. own selfish 
regrets. 

“ Dearest mother, how good you are ! ” she said 
softly. “ I was afraid you would be grieved.” 

I smiled into that loving, tremulous face — I could 
smile now without an effort. 

“ My darling forgets that her old mother was 
once young herself.” 

She clasped me round the neck, and covered my 
face with an April-like mingling of tears and kisses, 
“ Mother, sweet mother, you are always young — 
you always understand. There is nobody like you 
in all the world. You know that it is not because 

I love you less that — that ” 

“ I know, Elizabeth; I understand. It is God 
who has so ordained it. Each one of us to whom 
He lias vouchsafed this great love knows what it 
is — how we must leave all else, father, mother, 
home and friends, to cleave to the husband of our 
choice. What God has joined together let not 
man put asunder. My darling, has God blessed 
your love ? ” 

Mother dear, I think so — I do indeed. Lov- 


MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE . 285 


ing George so much seems to bring me nearer to 
God.” 

I kissed her again and again, and my heart gave 
thanks for this. 

“ That is enough, my child. If the human love 
seems to bring us nearer to God, instead of taking 
us away from Him, we can hardly be loving con- 
trary to His wishes. He still holds the first place 
in my daughter’s heart ? ” 

Her clear eyes looked into mine, shining with a 
beautiful, reverent light. 

“ Ah, yes, mother, God stands first. No other 
love can ever, I think, be like that” 

We were silent then for a long time, holding 
each other very close. I felt that the new love 
had but bound my child closer to me ; and I 
prayed yet again that no selfishness on my part 
might ever stand between her and her happiness, 
nor loosen the bond of loving sympathy that 
bound us so close together. 

What makes us mothers so often stand in our 
children’s way, and refuse them motherly sym- 
pathy and love, just when they need it most ? Are 
they not doing only what we did before them ? 
Why are we so loth to let them go ? Why do we 
so often lay stumbling-blocks in their way, and 
speak words and do deeds that leave bitter mem- 
ories behind, when all might have been so loving 
and so sweet ? 


286 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


Well, thank God that He helped me to hide 
from my child all that could hurt or 'pain her. 
The dawn in her life of a deeper love than ever 
could be mine never raised one little cloud be- 
tween us, but rather drew us closer and more close 
together. 

u I will not claim her yet, mother — you will let 
me call you mother, will you not ? ” said George. 
u I will be patient, and wait for her till she is older ; 
but you will let us write? You will let it be a 
real engagement ? ” 

I could not but smile at his simplicity. 

“ Do you think I am so young that I try to lock 
the stable door after the horse is stolen ? Is it not 
an engagement already ? ” 

George looked me steadily in the face. 

“ It shall not be one without your sanction, 
mother.” 

I laid my hand in his in token of gratitude, for I 
knew he meant what he said. 

“ Thank you, George,” I said ; “ that is spoken 
like a man and a gentleman — like your father’s 
son. But your engagement has my sanction. 
You and Elizabeth have my free permission to cor- 
respond ; and when she is twenty you may claim 
her as your wife.” 

They came and kissed me, with a loving grat- 
itude very sweet. 


MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 287 

“ Mother,” said George, in his honest way, “ you 
shall find, God helping me, that you have not lost 
a daughter, but gained a son.” 

“ I believe you, George,” I answered ; “ you 
have always been dear to me — always ranked next, 
after my own boys.” 

His face lighted with pleasure. 

“ And now I am one of your own boys ! ” 

66 Yes,” I answered, smiling, “ I will accept you 
as such from this time forth.” 

He looked so honestly gratified that I felt once 
again repaid for any effort I had made. 

“ And you will be very good to my little Eliza- 
beth? Kemember, she is my youngest, and my 
special darling.” 

He turned and put his arm round the slight 
figure, and his face seemed to shine. 

“ I would gladly die for her,” he answered, with 
quiet emphasis; “ but, please God, I shall live for 
her and be a good husband, and make a good son 
to you.” 

Then he led her away, to pour out into her ear, 
as I doubted not, all the love and devotion of his 
honest heart. 

I think the tears gathered in my eyes as I sat 
alone, but they were not tears of sorrow. 

An arm was thrown round my neck, and a warm 
cheek pressed to mine. 

“ Never mind, mother,” said Malcolm’s loving 
voice, “ you know you will always have me ! ” 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

WAR. 

LIZABETH’S engagement was formally- 
sanctioned; and George left us to resume 
the quiet life he had for the moment dis- 
turbed. 

I had thought carefully over the proposition 
made me by my second and third sons in regard to 
the ultimate disposal of Lydgate, and although I 
had not yet made up my mind to pass them over for 
the sake of Malcolm, I did feel myself justified in 
keeping the lad with me, and making him event- 
ually independent of any profession. I could do 
this without robbing the other children, and I 
knew that I was pleasing them all by adopting this 
course. 

Since my illness, I had felt the need of assist- 
ance in the management of the property, and Mal- 
colm showed an aptitude for a “ Squire’s” duties 
that pleased and surprised me. 




WAR. 


289 


He was clever and kind and thoughtful, and 
soon became a universal favorite with tenants and 
laborers. As time passed on, I began to consider 
more seriously as to the propriety of willing to him 
Lydgate at my decease. I had not settled the 
point, and I never had to, as things turned out. 

Man proposes, and God disposes. 

We lived a very quiet life down at Lydgate. 
The affairs of the great world without troubled us 
but little. Malcolm was no politician, and Eliza- 
beth and I were not fond of the study of the 
newspapers. 

We knew, of course, that Europe was somewhat 
unsettled, that Russia was giving rise to uneasiness 
by her policy, and that the Continental Powers 
were watching her with some displeasure. 

But the actual proclamation of war surprised 
and startled us ; and Malcolm hurried up to Lon- 
don, where Tom was at the time residing (he was 
a Member of Parliament then), in order to learn 
all that was going on, and what was likely to be 
the result. 

I saw him go without misgiving. I little knew 
the strange, exciting influences to which he would 
be exposed, when once he reached the vortex of 
the great capital. 

He was gone three weeks, and came back with 
the war fever burning within him. 

I am not the only mother now living who can 


290 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


call to remembrance tlie almost sickening feeling 
with which she heard those eager words, spoken 
by one or another of her brave sons: 

“ Mother, I must go ! They want soldiers. I 
must fight for my country.” 

My heart sank within me when my boy came to 
me with these words on his lips. This was a harder 
trial than the one I had lately been through, when 
I yielded up Elizabeth to her betrothal. 

I was giving her up to a happy wedded life; but 
it seemed like giving up my boy to danger, and 
perhaps to death. 

Still I tried to think calmly, and to distinguish 
between the mere selfish longing to keep him with 
me, and the greater difficulties that lay, as I fancied, 
in his path. I talked to him of his inexperience 
and want of training ; but he swept away my argu- 
ments as fast as they rose. 

“He knew he could get a commission. Men 
were wanted, and Tom had influence. He was a 
first-rate horseman, and should apply for a cavalry 
commission. He had made inquiries, and knew 
he could get one. He had not visited Harold for 
nothing. He knew what military life and dis- 
cipline were like. In times like these it was not 
hard to qualify oneself for the duties of the posi- 
tion. He must go — he felt it his duty, as well as 
his greatest wish.” 

What could I say or do? I saw the boy’s mind 


WAR. 291 

was made up. When that is the case, opposition 
is of little avail. 

I urged him as much as I could to abandon the 
idea, and forget the wish he had so earnestly 
formed; but even as I spoke I knew that the wish 
had already become a part of his nature. 

He had soldier’s blood in his veins on both sides. 
Could I wonder that the fever, once caught, should 
rage furiously ? Had I been in his place, might I 
not in all probability have felt the same ? 

Only once did I appeal to hi£ love for me; and I 
was not sure, even while I spoke, if such an appeal 
were quite fair. 

“ I thought you were going to stay always with 
me, Malcolm ? ” 

“ Ah, mother,” he said, “don’t break my heart. 
You know that you can make me stay if you will; 
but do not — please do not. I will keep my prom- 
ise. I will be your own special son, and come back 
to you and take care of you all your life. But let 
me, just this once, see a little of the battle of life. 
Let me go out, as other men are doing, and strike 
one blow for the honor of our country. You do 
not know what it is like, this craving to join the 
ranks. Harold is going — let me go too. The war 
cannot last long. Then, I will come home to you, 
and never leave you any more. You have Eliza- 
beth now. It is my last chance of just one glimpse 
of the real, living, fighting world. A man ought 


292 TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

to do his duty, you know, mother, and I can be 
spared just for a time. Let me go ; and 1 will come 
back and settle down, and be satisfied for always 
with my one campaign.” 

So my boy pleaded — his bright young face flushed 
with eager longing, his whole frame seeming to 
tremble with eagerness for my answer. I knew 
that, with all his eagerness, he would abide by my 
decision. 

“ And suppose you never do come back ? ” I 
answered gently. • 

“Now, mother,” you must not think that. I 
cannot have you faint-hearted. Of course, I shall 
come back. I shall take care of myself for your 
sake, and come home covered with glory. Think 
how many soldiers go out to war, and how few, 
comparatively, are killed.” 

He spoke lightly, and I smiled, whilst my heart 
sank, for I was thinking of the desolate homes 
made by every war. I had known something of 
this in my early life ; but my children had lived in 
peaceful days, and war was to them but a pageant 
of glory and adventure. 

“ Your heart is quite set upon it, Malcolm ?” 

“ Yes, mother dear ; I feel as if I must go.” 

“ Will you wait for a week, and think the matter 
quietly over ? If at the end of that time you still 
feel as you do now, I will allow you to follow out 
your own wishes.” 


WAB. 


293 


He looked eager, and almost impatient at the de- 
lay, but his sweet temper triumphed over tem- 
porary vexation, and he accepted my condi- 
tion. 

I had little hope that a week would bring any 
change to his feelings ; neither did it. 

As the days passed b} r , I could trace by his eager 
thirst for news that the fever still burnt within 
him. It was as much for my sake as for his that I 
asked for this respite, for I wanted time to grow 
reconciled, as far as I could, to the possibilities of 
the future. 

Elizabeth said to me one day — 

“ Malcolm means to go, mother.” 

“ I know it, dear.” 

“ Do you mind so very much ? ” 

“ It is always hard to make up our minds to spare 
our children, Elizabeth ; but I shall not hinder the 
boy. He shall takes his mother’s blessing with 
him when he goes.” 

“ Ah, yes, mother, you are always so good to 
us ; ” then, after a pause, she added slowly, “ Do 
you know, I think if I were a man, I should want 
to go too.” 

I could not help smiling as I answered : 

“ Possibly, if 1 were in Malcolm’s place, I might 
say the same.” 

Elizabeth laughed softly and clapped her hands. 

“ Ah, mother, you see we all think alike. When 


294 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 

our country needs us, we are all eager to go out to 
serve her.” 

“ Yes, dear, only it is a little hard on us mothers. 
We cannot help feeling as if all would go well, 
even if our sons stayed at home. Harold is a 
soldier by profession. His duty is clear; but I 
cannot quite see why our Malcolm must needs 
go.” 

“Nor I exactly, except that his heart is set on 
it; and I feel as if I should say the same in his 
place.” 

“ You are not afraid, then, to let him go?” 

Her bright face clouded a little. 

“ I am not going to let myself feel afraid. I do 
not think God would let our Malcolm die like 
that.” 

I could not restrain a sigh. How many have 
experienced just such a sentiment, who yet have 
had to yield up their nearest and dearest in this 
cruel fight ! 

“ Malcolm says the danger is so slight. He is so 
sure of coming home.” 

“ Young soldiers are ever hopeful ; they only see 
the brightness and glory. It is we who are left 
behind that tremble for them.” 

“ Are you afraid, mother dear?” 

“ I have known something of war, my child.” 

“But so many always come back.” 

“ And so many are left behind.” 


WAR. 


295 


Her face looked grave once more. I looked at 
her with a smile, and asked : 

“Are you not glad that George is safe in 
Vienna?” 

A new look swept across her face. 

“ Oh, yes, indeed, mother,” she answered 
quickly ; and as I made no comment, she con- 
tinued, speaking slowly, “ I did not know that I 
was careless of Malcolm’s safety before.” 

She looked distressed. I had to become con- 
soler in my turn, for she was almost remorseful at 
the calm way in which she had talked of Malcolm’s 
project. 

“ My love,” I said, “ it is right that George 
should stand first with you. A brother may be 
very dear to you, as Malcolm is ; but he cannot fill 
the place in your heart that is given to your 
affianced husband. If we lose our Malcolm your 
life will not be left desolate ; but to lose George 
would be almost like being widowed.” 

The week went by, and Malcolm’s purpose had 
but strengthened with each day that passed. 

I gave him leave to do as he wished, and 
promised him all the needful help. 

There is nothing to be gained by half-measures, 
I would have kept my son away from the war, if I 
could have done so without feeling that I stretched 
my authority beyond its right limits. As I had 
failed in this, it only remained to me to throw all 


296 THE MIS TRESS OF LYDGA1 E. 

my energies into doing the very best for the boy 
that was possible. 

He was very joyful and grateful, quite under- 
standing that I had made a sacrifice, and almost 
remorseful that he had been the cause of giving me 
any pain, however indirect. 

“ You know that it is not that I love you less,” 
he said appealingly. 

“ I know that well, my boy.” 

“ I would have stayed, if you had bidden me.” 

u I know that too.” 

“ You are the best mother in the world. I shall 
never forget it. When I come back and settle 
down you shall have no cause to regret that you 
let me go.” 

He was very tender and loving all the days that 
remained, but we saw little of him at Lydgate. 
He was in London for the most part, going through 
the necessary qualifications, and making the need- 
ful preparations for departure. 

His commission was purchased in the 17th 
Lancers, and the boy was wild with excitement 
and delight at the thought of the active service so 
soon to be entered on. 

Harold had been for years in the army, and had 
hardly seen smoke, and here was he about to plunge 
into the thick of the campaign without one wasted 
year. 

He ran down home whenever he could spare the 


WAR. 


297 


time — the railways had made travelling easy by 
this time — and on each visit we observed in him a 
greater enthusiasm than on the last. 

It was hard not to catch the fire from him. 
Elizabeth did do so, and was almost as eager as he 
was for the real commencement of operations. 
Even I, who knew something of the realities of war, 
could not remain unsympathetic ; and if I could 
not quite share their enthusiasm, I could at least 
witness it without a pang. 

I remember/ the last evening that my boy spent 
with us. The thought of the parting upon the 
morrow lay heavy upon all hearts. We were more 
silent than was our wont, and, as if to cover the 
long pauses that tried our composure, Elizabeth 
went to the piano, and played softly and sweetly. 

Malcolm came and sat beside me, and held my 
hands very closely in his. At this moment I felt 
that I was the stronger of the two. 

u My boy,” I said softly, “one question I should 
like to ask, before I send you out into this world of 
peril. If it be God’s will that you do not come 
back to us, will it still be well with you? ” 

His beautiful eyes looked into mine, and I thought 
no worse of my soldier boy that they were filled with 
tears. 

“ Mother dear,” he answered, with a little liuski- 
ness in his voice, “ I have not lived at your side all 
my life for nothing. I have tried to follow in your 


298 


TUB MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


footsteps, as you have followed in those of our Lord; 
and I trust and hope that nothing, either in life or 
death, can separate me from the love of Him, our 
glorious Redeemer.” 

“ Thank God ! ” was all I found words to say, as 
I held my boy very closely in my arms. 

His curly head was pressed to my cheek, and I 
felt that every now and again a stifled sob burst 
from him. 

Tears gathered in my own eyes, but for his sake 
I held them back. Many and many a time had I 
held my last-born son in my arms, whilst he wept 
out his griefs upon my shoulder. Was it strange 
that I should be doing this upon the very last 
evening we were destined to spend together upon 
earth? 

I did not know at the time that my young sol- 
dier would never come back to me ; but a dim 
presentiment of coming woe stole over me as we 
sat together there. I lifted my heart in fervent 
prayer — prayer that my boy might be mercifully 
preserved from harm ; prayer that I might resign 
myself to the Heavenly Father’s will, whatsoever, 
form that will might take. 

“ You are praying for me, mother,” whispered 
Malcolm in my ear. 

“ Yes, my boy. Your mother’s heart will hardly 
cease praying for you all the days of your ab- 
sence.” 


WAR. 


299 


“I know it,” he answered in the same husky 
tone. “ I shall think of it every day. Even in the 
thick of the battle I shall say to myself, 4 Mother 
is praying for me.’ That is the best kind of armor 
I can have.” 

“ My boy must gird himself with the whole 
armor of God,” I answered, holding him closer and 
more closely in my arms. 44 I have put a little 
Bible amongst your most necessary things. Never 
forget that the sword of the Spirit is the Word of 
God.” 

44 I will not. I will carry that little Bible next 
my heart, and read it every day. Whilst you are 
praying for your soldier boy, he will be praying for 
you. It will be a sort of bond, keeping us close 
together even in absence.” 

Elizabeth’s music ceased, and she came over 
towards us, her eyes shining in tears. 

44 Pray with us, mother, this last night, as you 
used to pray with us as children. And when Mal- 
colm comes back to us we will pray all together 
again.” 

And so we knelt side by side, and prayed, and a 
deep sense of God’s protecting love and care settled 
upon each one of us. 

The memory of that night is still green in my 
heart. The joy and comfort it gave me enabled me 
to smile a bright farewell upon my boy as he rode 
away on the morrow in all the gallant grace of his 


300 


THE MJ STRESS OF LYDGATE. 


young manhood, brave and bright and hopeful. 

Well that we could not see the future, else my 
son could hardly have left me with a smile upon 
his face. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

MY TWINS. 

HO that lived in the days of the Crimean 
War can ever forget the electric thrill that 
ran through the length and breadth of the 
land at the news of the cavalry charge at Bala- 
klava — the charge of the Light Brigade ? 

Can I ever foiget it ? 

Not if I live to be a hundred. 

Never shall I forget the day when the news of 
that heroic charge reached us, for my boy was in it. 
The 17th Lancers were amongst those who rode at 
the Russian guns, and Malcolm Baskerville was 
one of those who did not ride back. 

Six hundred and seven brave soldiers rode into 
that valley — and but one hundred and ninety-eight 
returned ! 

Think what that means. Four hundred desolate 
homes — many hundred hearts weighed down by 
crushing sorrow — and all for some fatal blunder ! 



302 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


I think that was the hardest part of all — the 
thought that it had been all a mistake, that sad loss 
of life — a mistake that has never yet been ex- 
plained, and never can be, till the great day when 
all secrets are discovered. 

Yet surely those brave horsemen knew, as they 
gallantly rode to their death, that the order which 
sent them there was some fatal misconception. 
Ah, how I wept over the spirited lines in which a 
great poet sang of that wild, brave charge : — 

4 Forward, the Light Brigade ! ’ 

Was there a man dismayed ? 

Not though the soldier knew 
Some one had blundered. 

Theirs not to make reply, 

Theirs not to reason why, 

Theirs but to do and die; 

Into the Valley of Death 
Bode the six hundred. 

* * * * 

When can their glory fade ? 

O the wild charge they made! 

All the world wondered. 

Honor the charge they made! 

Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred! 

Even to this day I cannot read these soul-stir- 
ring lines without feeling the smarting tears start 
to my eyes. 

It was thus that I lost my youngest son, my lov- 
ing and well-loved Malcolm. He died a soldier’s 
death in that fatal valley. 


MY TWINS . 


303 


Just a few days of intolerable suspense, and then 
the absolute certainty. 

I will pass over the details. They are painful 
even now to recall. 

For one brief space a wave of wild rebellion 
against God’s will surged over me. 

It seemed as if He had laid upon me more than I 
could bear. I think it was for about two days that 
the black waters of doubt and darkness closed me 
in — a black spot in my memory, which I cannot 
often bear to look back upon. 

And then, like a voice from heaven itself, came 
the blessed words of assurance : 

“ My grace shall be sufficient for you. My 
strength is made perfect in weakness. Cast thy 
burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee.” 

I looked up to heaven, and saw light behind the 
cloud. The rainbow was shining in my stormy 
sky, and I could say — falteringly at first, but after- 
wards with calmness and even with joy — u Thy 
will be done. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath 
taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord ! ” 

The winter wore away, and the glad springtide 
came again ; but I began to observe a change 
in my Elizabeth, that gave me some uneasiness. 

Her brother’s death had been a shock to her, 
and I was not surprised that she drooped a while, 
and grew pale, dreamy, and quiet. 


304 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


For a month or two this change gave me no dis- 
quiet, for I saw that she felt Malcolm’s death in- 
creasingly as days went by, and I did not wonder 
at it. 

But as months passed, and my darling’s birth- 
day came and went, and the time appointed for 
George’s return and her owp. wedding approached 
by rapid strides, then I did begin to wonder at her 
continued look of care and sorrow, and began to 
feel uneasy at the change I saw in her. 

She did not give me her full confidence in this 
point. I was aware that something was troubling 
her, of which I was ignorant. She talked to me 
of Malcolm’s death, and her grief on his account; 
yet I was fully aware all the time that another and 
a greater trouble lay behind. 

At last all came out. 

We were out in the garden together one sweet 
spring day — almost summer-like in its warmth and 
fragrance, and I asked about George’s return, and 
when he was coming to claim his bride. 

I did not understand the look that crossed my 
child’s face. 

“ I do not think he is coming over at all this year.” 
looked at her in great surprise. 

“ My darling, you were to have been married 
this summer.” 

Still she looked away with sad eyes, and a pale, 
wistful face. 


MY TWINS. 305 

44 I do not think we shall be married now, moth- 
er,” she said quietly. 

44 Do you wish to wait till your year of mourn- 
ing for Malcolm is over ? ” 

Her lips quivered, and b} r -and-by she said: 

44 It is not that exactly. Sometimes I think I 
shall never be married at all.” 

I looked up again, more surprised still. Sud- 
denly her enforced calm gave way, and she 
knelt beside me sobbing, burying her face in my 
.lap. 

I let her cry for a time, without attempting to 
check her, and then I asked gently : 

44 Has George changed towards you in his ab- 
sence, my darling?” 

She shook her head vehemently. 

44 Oh, no, no, no ! — not that ! ” 

44 What then ? ” I asked ; but for some minutes 
I only got convulsive sobs for answer. 

44 Tell me, darling, what troubles you. Let me 
share it with you. All troubles are lighter for 
being divided. Let me take a part. My little 
Elizabeth has never, I think, kept a secret from 
her mother before. Why begin now ? ” 

She lifted her head at last, and looked at me 
with a world of love in her eyes. 

44 Mother,” she said, in broken, faltering tones, 
44 1 do not think I shall ever marry. Now that 
Malcolm is dead, I do not see how lean leave you. 


306 THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

I have almost decided to stay at home always. I 
cannot bear to think of 3^0 ur being alone.” 

I held her in my arms and kissed her tenderly. 
It was veiy sweet to hear such words ; but thej^ did 
not tempt me to accept this great sacrifice at my 
child’s willing hands. 

“ Is this what has been troubling you all these 
long weeks, my darling ? ” 

She looked up wistfully. 

“ I have been thinking about it ever since — ever 
since November; and it seemed to grow plainer 
and plainer. Mother, I cannot leave you ! ” 

She clung to me passionately, and again the 
deep-drawn sobs broke from her. 

“ My darling,” I said, “ do you think it makes 
me happy for you to break j our heart ? ” 

She could not answer articulately, but mur- 
mured something about always being happy with 
me. 

“But George?” I said. 

Then came more tears, and amid the quick sobs 
I caught the strangled words : 

“ Yes, it is just that — George — I love you — I 
love you so that nothing — is — too hard. But he 
is alone — he has nobod} 7 — and he does so love me. 
It breaks my heart — to hurt him — so.” 

The scene was growing painful. I hastened to 
put a stop to this agitation. 

“ Elizabeth,” I said, “ try to calm yourself 


MY TWINS . 


S07 

and listen to me. I have my word to keep, and 
my duty to do by you, as you have done yours by 
me all the years we have lived together. When 
George came and asked me for you, I gave him my 
word without any condition, that if he would wait 
till a given time he should take you away as his 
wife. He has waited patiently and loyally ; he has 
given to you all the chivalrous love of a manly 
heart ; he has given me the obedience and love of 
a son. His share of the contract has been nobly 
carried out. He has shown himself worthy of the 
wife he seeks to win. What return can we make 
him for his devotion and patience ? Am I to 
turn round and deny the promise I have made 
him? ” 

My quiet tone calmed and stilled Elizabeth ; she 
looked up and said : 

“ It is not you, mother, but I.” 

“ If you do it for my sake, and I permit it, it is 
as much my doing as yours.” 

44 How can I leave you ? How can I go away 
when you are all alone ? ” 

44 My child, I am not alone. One Friend is 
always with me. You must not think that I shall 
brood in loneliness and sorrow, if my children 
leave the nest to go out into the lives appointed 
them by God. He will give hie work to do, and 
grace to help me in the doing. He will never leave 
me nor forsake me ; and I can pray for his blessing, 


308 


THE MIST HESS OF LYDGATE. 


and look for His help far more confidently if I do 
my duty towards my dear ones than if I selfishly 
stand in the way of the happiness of those who 
love and trust me, and spoil two lives that, but for 
me, might have been full of life’s deepest joy. I 
gave you up, my darling, two years ago, and I have 
never wished the words unsaid. I will not cloud 
your life to brighten mine — nor would it really 
cheer me to keep you with me selfishly. You must 
go to your husband when he comes to claim you ; 
and I shall write and bid him keep the appointed 
time. 

My darling’s face was suffused with lovely 
blushes. She buried her face in my bosom, and 
wept away the last of her trouble in my arms. 

Poor darling ! the struggle had almost been too 
much for her tender heart — two conflicting loves 
fighting for mastery. She had been torn in twain 
by the battle that had silently raged within her ; 
thinking little of herself or her own hopes and 
happiness, but of the feelings of others and the 
duties she owed to mother and promised hus- 
band. 

Why could she not have spoken earlier ? 

I would so gladly have spared her all the pangs 
she had suffered. Yet, perhaps, it was well that 
she had learned a little of the battle with sorrow 
and pain, without which no nature can be per- 
fected. My Elizabeth came out of that conflict 


MY TWINS. 


309 


ennobled by all she had suffered ; her nature deep- 
ened, her whole character purified and strength- 
ened. 

I summoned George, who had likewise suffered 
from the tone of the letters Elizabeth had written, 
and before that summer ended a quiet wedding 
took place at Lydgate, and the last of my children 
went out from the old home. 

I was not allowed to feel it painfully at the 
time. Arthur brought his young wife to this wed- 
ding, and they remained with me for several weeks, 
and did all in their power to show their love and 
care for me. 

I was tranquil and content, and I shed no tears 
when my sweet Elizabeth parted from me, to go to 
her home in a foreign land. I commended her to 
the care of the Heavenly Father, and let her go, 
smiling upon her, as I had smiled upon Malcolm, 
when he went forth to fight and to die. 

But I could not forget that both my twin chil- 
dren had left me — and in a sense forever in this 
world — the children of my old age, whom once I 
had fondly hoped to keep always with me. 

Lydgate was a strange place without their bright 
faces and sweet voices. I seemed to live in the 
days of the past, and to fancy they were still tiny 
children, playing in their nursery, and running 
with uneven steps along the corridors and through 
the large empty rooms. 


310 


THE MI STB ESS OF LYDGATE. 


I lived for a few weeks much in the past, and 
only woke up to find myself alone in my large 
house, where, in all probability, I should always 
be alone now. 

So I asked God for help and strength and guidance, 
and the support of His Good Spirit in all that I did ; 
and I took up the life that remained to me, and 
tried to live it to His glory, by thinking of those 
around me who needed help and comfort, and by 
caring for those who seemed uncared for by all the 
world. 

God spoke to me then, as He has spoken to many 
another lonely woman in my place : 

“ Insomuch as ye have done it unto the least of 
these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.” 



CHAPTER XXY. 


LAST LINKS. 


ND now there is little more to tell of the 
story of my life, although a quarter of a 
century has passed since I lost my twin 
children from the old home. 

These years have been very tranquil and peace- 
ful. I have been greatly blessed both in body and 
soul, and, after the battles of a somewhat stormy 
life, I have been vouchsafed a wonderfully peaceful 
eventide. 

I have lived to see my children’s children grow 
up around me, and those I love best have ever been 
to me beyond what mother’s heart could wish. No 
one could have been more dutifully watched and 
tended than I have been ; and if my life has been 
outwardly sorrowful and lonely, I can only say that 
by God’s mercy I have never felt it so within. 

J ust a few threads I must gather up before I close 
my tale. 



312 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


The year following Elizabeth’s wedding brought 
me a visitor — General Lyon. 

He had served all through the war, and had only 
lately returned to England, covered with military 
honors for the gallantry of his conduct. 

He sought me out the first moment he could call 
his own. I welcomed him gladly, for he was a friend 
whom I deeply valued and respected. 

I had many questions to ask, but they died away 
upon my lips. My wound was too recent then to 
bear much handling. 

After we had talked for some time upon the ques- 
tions of the day, and Ins own share in the campaign, 
he himself introduced the topic nearest both of our 
hearts. 

“ Mrs. Baskerville,” he said, fumbling in his 
pocket, “ I bring you something of your son’s.” 

He held out a small packet wrapped in paper. I 
tore away the wrappings, and found the little Bible 
I had placed in Malcolm’s kit before he left me. 

But it was not fresh and new, as it had left my 
hands, but stained and battered almost beyond 
recognition. A bullet was deeply imbedded in it, 
and the stain upon its cover was the stain of blood. 

I could not speak as I looked at it, holding it in 
my trembling hands, whilst the tears slowly dropped 
upon it. 

General Lyon himself spoke somewhat huskily as 
he proceeded with his tale : 


LAST LINKS. 


313 


“We found it upon him as he lay in the valley, 
wounded and dying. He said you would like it ; 
and I have kept it to give you with my own hands.” 

I started and looked up. I had never known 
that my boy had not been killed upon the spot, 
under that deadly fire. I did not know that he had 
lived to speak a last word before his brave young 
spirit fled. 

44 Tell me,” I whispered, 44 tell me all. I know 
nothing — except his death.” 

w I would not confide the message to paper. Our 
posts were not to be trusted. I wrote it in the little 
book, and charged my friends that, whatever befell 
me, the packet was to be sent to you.” 

He paused ; but I could make no answer, only 
repeat my former words : 

44 Tell me — tell me all.” 

44 There is little to tell. We found him dying 
where he had fallen, his horse lying dead beside 
him. lie was in no pain — the shot and shell had 
done its work too well for that; he just breathed, 
and that was all. We knew he was dying, and so 
did he. He smiled and made a sign for me to bend 
my ear down to his lips. 

44 4 Take my little Bible,’ he whispered , 4 and give 
it to my mother. Tell her I read it every day, and 
often read it to my men, and told them, as well as 
I could, some of the things she told me. Many 
poor fellows she will never see have blessed her 


314 


TIIE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE. 


name. Give my love to Elizabeth — and all, — and 
above all to my mother. Tell her I have tried to 
keep my armor bright — tell her that the valley of 
death is not dark.” 

“ That was all he could say, and that was spoken 
with many pauses and with difficult utterance. He 
just closed his eyes and breathed one sigh, and his 
spirit passed away into the keeping of the God who 
gave it.” 

My tears fell fast, but they were tears of healing, 
and of glad gratitude. My boy had kept his prom- 
ise, and had followed my other dear ones into the 
better land. He was not lost, but gone before ; 
and I could say once more, “ It is well.” 

General Lyon told me many simple, touching 
anecdotes of my boy’s latter days, and left me 
greatly cheered and comforted. He ranked from 
that day as one of my best and most honored friends, 
and we met frequently and with mutual satisfaction, 
until his death, which occurred in 186*1. 

What other threads remain to be gathered up 
before my story closes ? 

What of Lelia ? 

I only saw her once again, for she lived for the 
most part abroad. But on one occasion, when on 
a visit to Tom in London, I met her at a reception, 
to which my children had insisted on taking me. 

She was still very handsome and brilliant, but I 


LAST LINKS. 


315 


could see that time had made ravages in that once 
so perfect beauty, and that Art had now to make 
amends for Nature’s fading charms. It was evi- 
dent to my eye that the life of pleasure-seeking 
which she had led had wearied without satisfying 
the craving of the soul within. 

She sought me out, and said, with more feeling 
than I should have expected : 

“ Ah, dear Aunt Kate, how glad I am to see 
you again ! You were with her — my mother — 
when she died. I have never forgiven myself for 
my conduct,” — and a very remorseful look crossed 
the beautiful face. “ I believe I might have pre- 
vailed and gone to her, had my heart been bent on 
it ; but it was not. I was happy and gay in my 
new life, and I did not wish to leave it. I would 
not believe in the danger. I blinded my eyes to 
facts, and only too late did I awake to realize what 
I had done. I let my mother die alone — she would 
have been alone but for you — whilst I was dancing 
my time away in reckless enjoyment and vain- 
glory. I hope God may forgive me, but I never 
can forgive myself.” 

And then she turned and left me, as if afraid to 
say more. I never saw my young kinswoman 
again ; and I am glad that my last impression of 
her was one which revealed a greater depth of feel- 
ing than I should have looked to find. 

Henry Scrope I saw but twice — both times in 


316 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


London. He was little better than a broken-down 
rouS — reaping as he had sown ; and when he died, 
sixteen years after his wife, I think he left behind 
not one sincere mourner. His was a melanchoty 
career of selfishness and self-indulgence ; let us not 
judge him. 

Peaceful and happy have been the declining 
years of my life. My children have been more to 
me than I can say. 

Harold has never married, and his home is still 
with me, but his active life leaves me little of his 
company. He has risen high in the service, and 
loves his profession with an enthusiasm that never 
cools, although he is getting to be, as he says, 
‘quite an old man;’ and in truth he is advancing 
into years, though I can never realize it. 

Tom and Arthur have been peculiarly happy in 
their wedded life, and sufficiently successful in the 
careers they have respectively chosen to fill me 
with a certain pride and pleasure. Their wives are 
like daughters to me, and their children especially 
dear. 

Elizabeth’s life has been a brilliant as well as a 
happy one. Her husband is now our ambassador 
at the Court of . 

But no outward grandeur ever changes my sweet 
daughter. She is ever the same to me — simple, 


LAST LINKS . 317 

loving, tender, full of devotion and filial gratitude, 
the dearest and the best of children. 

I think the happiest hours of my happy old age 
have been those spent by Elizabeth and her hus- 
band at Lydgate, with their two sweet children, 
Lovel and Ursula. 

And now, I think, I have no more to tell. 

The story of my long life has been narrated ; 
and as I look back upon the past, I see, more 
clearly than all beside, the Hand of God guiding 
all. 

Heavenly Father, unto Thee I commit all that 
remains to me of this mortal life. Do with me as 
Thou wilt; and in Thine own good time call Ae, 
I pray Thee, to join my loved ones on the farther 
shore, whither they have gone before ! 

Very near to the dark valley must my steps be 
tending now, yet I know that the darkness will 
be no darkness to me. 

As Thou hast led me through the desert of life, 
so wilt Thou lead me through the river of death. 

“ Behold, I come quickly. Amen. Even so 
come, Lord Jesus.” 



CONCLUSION. 

HAT is my grandmother’s story, reproduced 
as nearly as possible from the quiet recital 
that was my greatest pleasure during the 
days of my convalescence. 

• But no pen can do full justice to the power and 
the pathos of the story as she told it — with the 
intense reality that only personal experience can 
give. As I look back at the pages I have written, 
I feel how colorless are the words which seemed to 
fall with such glowing emphasis from her lips. 

She was so beautiful, my grandmother, who was 
nearly eighty years of age when she told me her 
story ; so grand, and yet so sweet and so gentle. As 
I looked at her, it often seemed as if heaven’s light 
shown upon her face, and there was a something 
about her which I can only speak of as 46 nearness 
to God.” 

The strange charm and power of this nameless 
attribute I can never forget and never describe. 



CONCLUSION . 


319 


I esteem it one of my* highest privileges to have 
been thus admitted to my grandmother’s confi- 
dence, and to have learned to know and to love 
her before she was taken away from us. 

So deeply did I reverence her, so intensely did 
she captivate my fancy and elevate my spiritual 
being, that I begged to be allowed to prolong my 
visit indefinitely ; and when at last I returned 
home to the Mount, it was not long before I was 
petitioning to go back to Lydgate. 

How glad I am that this second visit was so 
readily accorded to me ! How deeply thankful I 
often feel that I was permitted to be with my hon- 
ored grandmother, when at last the call came from 
above, and she was bidden to enter the valley of 
the shadow of death. 

Dark, do men call that passage . 

I never saw such calm brilliance of heavenly 
light as shone upon that mysterious way as our 
loved one set out upon it, to join those who had 
gone before. 

I had gone back with my grandmother after she 
had spent Christmas with us at the Mount. She 
seldom left home in the winter. Generally my 
Uncle Arthur or my Aunt Elizabeth, with their 
respective families, had passed the festive season 
with her ; but this year both were unable to do 
this, and, by our special wish, she had come to the 
Mount. 


320 the MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 

I went back with her to Lydgate, and we spent 
some happy weeks together there. I think my 
youthful adoration pleased and touched her. She 
was goodness itself to me, and my chiefest joy was 
hearing her sometimes say : 

“ My child, you make me think of your Aunt 
Elizabeth.” 

She seemed well and bright, although somewhat 
feeble, during the cold weather. She talked about 
“ getting old” sometimes, with one. of the sweet 
smiles that I loved to see. How many lessons I 
learnt from her as we sat together in the long win- 
ter evenings ! I pray God each day of my life, to 
keep the memory of her words green in my heart, 
and to make me more like her ! 

And then came the peaceful closing scene, which 
never will be effaced from my memory even if I 
live to her great age. 

It was not exactly an illness, but a sudden break- 
ing up — a collapse of the wonderful strength that 
had stood the wear and tear of sorrow and grief for 
eighty long years. Suddenly and without warn- 
ing that power left her, and we all knew that she 
would not be with us long. 

What a gathering there was round that sick 
bed ! Can I ever forget it? 

My father and mother came first, quickly fol- 
lowed by Uncle Harold and Uncle Arthur. His 
wife could not come, for my little new cousin was 


CONCLUSION. 


321 


but two weeks old ; but she was the only one miss- 
ing of the sons and daughters still living. Aunt 
Elizabeth and Uncle George travelled night and 
day, and arrived before we thought it possible. I 
think Aunt Elizabeth’s heart would almost have 
broken had she been too late. 

I was on the spot, or I should hardly have been 
present at this solemn reunion of a scattered family. 
But I had been so much with grandmother of late > 
that she seemed to miss my presence from her side, 
and so I was constantly with her, storing up pre- 
cious memories for days to come. 

Great weakness robbed her, to a certain extent, 
of those remarkable powers of mind for which she 
had been justly celebrated. She seemed hardly to 
know or notice the change of faces about her, and 
although she knew each of the loved ones as they 
approached, she did not appear to have realized 
what this gathering together must mean, or to be 
aware that all were together in the house. 

Never was a more bright and happy death-bed. 
She lay in quiet, restful peacefulness of spirit. 
Every little service was rewarded by a smile, and 
every one who approached was greeted by a Sweet 
look of recognition and love. 

Not a murmur, not a sound of aught but love 
and gratitude, was ever heard at that bedside. We 
could not feel that any sad change was approach- 
ing in the light of that radiant face. Our own 


322 


THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE . 


grief was swallowed up in the thought of the bright- 
ness waiting for her. 

Day by day her feeble strength waned. The 
lamp of life burned ever more low. A breath, as 
it seemed, might extinguish it ; the end drew very 
near. 

She died in the night — at midnight, 1 think it 
was — and we were all with her, for the doctor had 
told us at sunset that she was sinking fast. 

She had hardly spoken all through the day, had 
hardly appeared to notice those about her, and we 
half expected to see her pass away without awak- 
ing from this lethargy. 

But it was not so. 

As the hour of midnight tolled from the great 
tower clock, she stirred in her sleep and opened 
her eyes. 

Slowly her glance travelled round that circle of 
faces around the bed, and she smiled with that 
peculiar radiance I had seen so often in her eyes — 
heaven’s own light, I think it must have been. 

“ All of them ! ” she whispered, holding out one 
feeble hand. “ All my dear ones watching on this 
side— and my dear lost ones waiting on the other. 
O Lord my God, I thank Thee for Thine unspeak- 
able goodness ! ” 

She looked at each in turn. They bent to kiss 
her, and to each she murmured some words of 
blessing and comfort. 


CONCLUSION . 


323 


I can only repeat my own : 

“ My child, the dark valley is not dark to those 
who love the Lord. Love Him with all your heart 
— give your young life into His keeping. He will 
never leave you nor forsake 3^011 ; and then, when 
your turn comes, He will carry you safely over the 
dark river, as He is carrying # me now.” 

It was the last flicker of life. We heard no 
more actual words ; but the calm beauty of that 
dying face can never be forgotten. 

We watched the light slowly fade, and we had 
almost said — 

“ She is gone ! ” 

When suddenly a new light beamed for one 
moment in those dying eyes, and if ever recognition 
was expressed in looks, it was in that last glance. 
I knew as well as if she had told us, that she had 
seen upon the eternal shore those who were “ not 
lost, but gone before.” 

And so my grandmother died ; and we buried 
her beside her husband and children in the quiet 
churchyard, not far from the home in which she 
had lived so long. 

We had no need to seek for further words to 
place upon the stone which marked her last rest- 
ing place. 

The words already there gave the clue to her 
life’s history — 

“ Yea,) though I walk through the valley of the 


324 THE MISTBESS OF LYDGATE. 

shadow of death , 1 will fear no evil , for Thou art 
with me?' 

And again — 

44 The path of the just is as the shining light , that 
shineth more and more unto the perfect day?' 


THE END. 

























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